


The Woman in White

by tanwencooper



Series: Three Times a Lady [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles Stilinski, First Time, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Post Season/Series 02, Secret Relationship, Secret Society, Sexual Tension, Stiles POV, Supernatural Elements, alpha pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 54,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwencooper/pseuds/tanwencooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' life is slowly falling apart and no one really seems to be noticing. His best friend is chasing the ghost of his ex's grandfather, his Dad is working himself to an early grave and Lydia Martin, the love of his life, has run off into the sunset forever. Then one day he meets a mysterious woman in a white coat and his life begins to slide onto a different path.</p><p>Can he mend his broken relationships? Can he save his friends from the threat of the alphas? And can he work out why the hell Derek Hale won't leave him alone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Things You see in the Graveyard.

Stiles stood with the flowers in his hands. Weeds really. Straggly little things that his father tried desperately to keep alive. His Mom had kept them blooming for years, bright and vibrant, but no matter how much he and his Dad tried... they just withered and died. They had been her favourite.

_Jane Stilinski. Missed but not forgotten. 1963 – 2010._

Every time he saw the words carved in the granite he was back in that hospital, holding her hand while his father cried. Two years ago today.

“Hey Mom. Sorry I've not been to see you in a while. Scott kind of got bitten by a werewolf, then fell in love with the daughter of a man who's entire family is sworn to hunt down and kill werewolves. Classic boy meets girl story.”

Stiles set the flowers by the side of her grave and sat down, leaning against the tombstone. He ran out the long litany of things that had happened in the past few short months. Scott, Alison, the Argent's, Derek, Peter, Jackson, Gerard still on the loose and the new Alpha pack that had swooped in. And Lydia.

“I thought we were finally getting somewhere. My ten year plan to get her was going to need a little bit of reworking but we'd make it in the end. Then she and Jackson decide to run away into the moonlight together just because he's some lost little puppy on a quest to find the whatever it was that murdered his parents. Oh, and everyone thinks that he's dead. Okay, so maybe that's a little unfair. She had some kind of crazy thing going on with Peter that was freaking her out.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to say. Peter is alive again. I'm not really sure how that happened and since no one is talking to me any more doesn't look like I will. I'm just stupid Stiles. I'm not a werewolf or a lizardman or a hunter with 100 experience points in archery.”

Stiles ran a hand over his shorn off hair and leant back against the stone.

“I wish I could talk to you Mom. You know, the kind of talking where you talk back. I mean you're dead so... you probably know all about this supernatural stuff.”

He ran his fingers through the grass. Six feet down was his mother. All her thoughts, all her memories, everything she ever was just six feet down. How many people had died in this past few months? He hadn't even known half of them.

“Oh, but hey. I made the team for the end of the game. I scored three times, once I got passed the whole ass clenching terror. Seems that all it takes to make a decent lacrosse player is the imminent threat of death and destruction. All I need to do now is find someone who will disembowel me every time I miss a goal and I'll be set.”

A loud crash came from the forest at the edge of the graveyard. Stiles looked up half expecting to see Derek lurking at the edges of the tree line but instead all he could see were the trees thrashing about, sounds of distress. Someone was in trouble.

He scrambled up and ran towards the trees. Would one of the alphas really make an attack in the middle of the day? Gerard? Could he be out in all his full scaly glory? He'd been hiding away until now. There was nothing to say he planned on staying that way. Ducking from tree to tree Stiles advanced towards the noise. He could hear the strange cries round the corner from the bushes he hid behind. Whatever was making that noise wasn't human.

What was he doing? His greatest power was sarcasm, and somehow he didn't think that a particularly well timed insult would do anything to stop Gerard or an alpha. But still, he had to do something. He looked around for a weapon, something, anything. A large shard of ancient tombstone with a vaguely sharp edge was all he could find. Grasping it tightly he steadied himself. He could do this. He didn't need always need a werewolf at his back. He was a bad ass. If he just kept telling himself that he might believe it.

A few quick pants to psych himself up, he held the stone aloft and leapt out from behind the bush with what he hoped with a blood curdling yell.

A pair of horns thrashed about, caught tight in a net. Slender legs kicked and bucked from between the holes of the net as the stag thrashed against it. Blood matted the fur on its legs where the bonds cut deep. Stiles hand fell back down.

“Great.”

He walked up to the terrified beast, whispering comfortingly to it. Patting it on the side he tried to get it to calm down enough that he could help it free. Running his hand over its flank seemed to calm the animal and stop it thrashing. The screeching ceased, but the deer was still breathing heavily. Stiles scratched the stag behind the ear, its huge brown eyes blinked up at him and it even licked his hand when he stroked its muzzle. Its tongue was rough and warm.

“Wow. I guess not being a were' helped out for once. If I was you'd be all kinds of freaked out right now. Come on. Let's get you out of here.”

Using his rock to slice the nets from off around the antlers, Stiles managed to free the deer from the net. It was hard going, the string was slicked with something that made the stone skit across it. The second the last of the bonds fell away the deer sprang up and leaped away, whatever spell had calmed it broken. He watched as it pranced away into the undergrowth like nothing had happened.

Stiles gathered up the net so that nothing else would get caught up in whoever had left this behind. A rope was tied to either end. He pulled on it and realised that one was tied round the base of a tree while the other was attached to a mess of wire. It was a trip wire. This was a trap. Just the right size for a fully grown werewolf.

He smelt the oil that had coated his fingers. It didn't take super human wolf smell to realise it was wolf's bane oil. God damn Argent's! This wasn't that far from the graveyard. Kids played in these woods. Anyone could have tripped it. Furious he scooped it up, one hand shooting through a hole and wrapping the whole lot around his arm. Flinging his arms about he managed to get his arms free only to realise that his legs were now messed up in the tangle. Slightly too late. He threw the net away from him, the momentum swiping his legs from under him. Landing flat on his ass he stared up at the canopy and swore.

“Great. I can't even deal with a god damn, inanimate, stupid net without falling flat on my ass.”

Hopping, he managed to free himself from the knots and flung the mess towards the bush he'd been hiding behind earlier.

Limping back to the graveyard he wondered how his life had gotten to be this. Why had all the craziness of the world chosen to congregate in some unassuming corner of California where nothing interesting ever happened. His eyes wandered over the deserted graveyard.

Except it wasn't quite deserted. Standing in the sea of grey and black stones was a single figure. Dressed in a floor length coat of pure white, with a deep hood pulled up to hide their face. The material caught and fluttered, slowly undulating around the person's legs. Not the attire of your typical Beacon Hills resident.

Here comes the newest supernatural terror. What would it be this time. Witches? Mummies? Demon worshippers? He realised where the person was standing. Over his mother's grave. It was one thing to have a town full of legendary monsters trying to kill him. It was another thing to let them interfere with his dead mother.

“Hey! What they hell are you doing? Get away from my Mom!”

The figure twisted its cowl towards him, face still hidden from view. The jacket twisted and clung to the figures form. Or rather, her form. The fabric seemed to shine slightly, as if the light shining on it was from a bright sunny day rather than the overcast one it was.

“Mom? She was your mother? I guess it has been a long time.”

The voice was comforting. He didn't understand why, but somehow that voice helped settle his volatile mood.

“You knew my Mom? You are from round here then?”

“No. I knew the woman your mother was. A long time ago.”

“In a galaxy far, far away?” Stiles finished.

From the depths of the hood came a mildly amused chuckle.

“Something like that,” she said.

“So who are you? I suppose there's a reason you're going all evil emperor. I'm thinking … cult. Scientology with a little added demon worship and blood rites. And you have got to tell me what washing powder you use because I am telling you, I have never seen whiter whites.”

A deep laugh came this time.

“I remember that wit. You really are Janella's child.”

“Janella? My Mom's name was Jane. Look, says right there. Jane Stallinski. You sure you were friends?”

The head shook.

“We were friends but as I said. I knew the woman your mother once was.” she turned back to the grave stone, still shining black like the day it had first been installed. “I would have liked to have seen her though. One last time.”

“Yeah, well, you're two years too late,” he said, casting his eyes anywhere but at the woman. What right did she have to be upset? It was his Mom that she'd forgotten to call for however many years. His Mom that had died.

“I know. And that will always be the biggest regret in my life. Can I offer you a word of advice– I'm sorry. I don't even know your name. Or should I just call you 'Little Red', boy who runs with wolves?”

Stiles pulled the red hoody that he always wore closer about himself. She knew about the werewolves. How did she know that and not anything else?

“Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.”

“Stiles.” The voice sounded quizzical but it didn't question him any further. She didn't offer her own name either, but Stiles hadn't been expecting her to. “Do yourself a favour, Stiles. Always take the chance when it's there. Always. The regrets for what we do are nothing compared to the regrets of what we don't. You're mother knew that a long time ago. I had to learn it the hard way.”

Stiles looked the woman up and down.

“Who the hell are you?”

“All in good time, Stiles. All in good time.” She turned towards the grave, bowing her hair as if in prayer. “Death equals all.”

The figure turned her back on them both, and walked away. Stiles had the feeling that this wouldn't be the last time the woman in white dropped into his life, only to leave him more confused than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole of Woman in White has been written and I am currently working on the sequel, Woman in Black, so if you like what you see keep an eye out. Woman in White should be going up in chunks over the next few days and weeks. 
> 
> If you have any comments let me know, I actively encourage helpful critique.
> 
> The wonderful cover art was done by [MidoriEyes](http://midorieyes.tumblr.com/) who is magnificent and you should go look at her stuff. Now.


	2. Unsheltered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is looking forward to some best buddy time alone with Scott. Unfortunately it appears they're not alone.

 Stiles parked his jeep outside the animal centre and rushed inside. With all that had happened at the graveyard he was late for his 'date' with Scott. It had been weeks since they'd hung out together. With girlfriend troubles, psychotic in-laws and werewolf woes Scott had been a bit too busy to worry about his oldest friend, so the two of them had decided to have a night off together. To just hang out and be normal teenagers, where the biggest dilemma in their lives was which pizza to order or film to watch. Considering the day he'd had so far, it was a night he sorely needed.

“Hey Scott you here?”

“Ahh … Stilinski. I was wondering where you'd gotten to.”

Dr. Deaton was standing in the corner donning his hat and coat to leave.

“Hey Doc.”

“Scott's through there. He's just finishing up on the late feeds, then he's all yours. I'll leave the three of you to lock up. Don't touch anything and stay out of the drugs cabinet.”

Stiles bade him farewell and waved goodbye.

Wait. Three? Oh no. Oh he did not. Not on Stiles and Scott time. No.

Stiles burst into the kennel room to see Scott with two bowls of dog food. Next to him, with a bag of kitty litter thrown over his shoulder, was Isaac.

For the love of god, was this guy serious?

“Hey Scott. Hey Isaac. Wasn't expecting to see you here.”

Isaac at least had the decency to look sheepish. He was there. Why was he always there? Every time Stiles tried to get Scott on his own, to talk to him or laugh or joke like they used to, Isaac was always _there._

“Yeah. Scott asked me to come along.”

“To talk to the doc,” Scott said. He was completely oblivious to the friction between Isaac and Stiles. Like usual. “We were stratagising. About Gerard. We still don't know where he's gone to ground, but when he shows his face again we want to be ready.”

“Why are you so bent up on finding Gerard?” said Stiles “He probably slunk off to die like a dog. There haven't been any 'animal attacks' since Jackson left.”

“Seriously Stiles. How can you ask me that?”

“So this is about Allison.” 

“Of course it's about Allison!” Stiles knew it was. What in Scott's life wasn't about Allison these days in at least some way, shape or form. Scott went on. “Maybe if I can help the Argent's with Gerard then Allison will take me back and her father won't be quite so keen to kill me every five minutes.”

Stiles forced his tongue down into lips, chewing on it as he tried to control his growing anger.

“Allison didn't break up with you because of Gerard. She broke up with you because of her Mom. Because of Kate and werewolves and being a hunter and because all of this was too much for her. She broke up with you because she needed some space and you are in her face all time and it's not going to help. Back off, man.”

Scott looked at Stiles like he'd just reached into one of the cages and dropped kicked a kitten.

“What the hell dude?”

Stiles paced angrily.

“I'm sorry. But it's just... you're freezing me out man! I used to be your go to guy. The one you kept in the loop. I shouldn't have vented off like that. I'm not a werewolf and I can't shoot a bow or make pipe bomb out of kitchen utensils like Lydia can. Could. It doesn't mean I can't be helpful. I can. I am. You don't have to freeze me out man.”

“Sorry,” said Scott. Stiles wasn't convinced. “I guess I got so caught up in everything with Allison I forgot about everyone else.”

Stiles stepped forward to put his arm around his friend only to realise that Isaac was already there. Stiles balled up his fist and bit his tongue. “So. You seen her? Like, at all.”

“No,” Scott said, busying himself with a Guinea pig. “It's weird. I see her in class, where she ignores me. Then it's like, bam, she just vanishes. At lunch, after school. I'm trying to keep my distance but God! It's like she's just cutting my out of her life.”

“That's tough,” said Isaac. “She just needs time and space. Like Stiles said.”

Stiles tried to come up with some sarcastic comment to diffuse the situation and cheer up Scott but his super power deserted him at the sight of Isaac comforting Scott like that. That was his job.

“Normally I'd just say ask Lydia, but she's run off into the wild blue yonder with Mr Amazing werewolf who she saved from certain death with the power of their love.”

Scott sighed. He looked tired.

“Lydia again? She's in love with Jackson. You'll get over it.”

Stiles snapped. Whatever that mysterious inner rubber band holding him together was, he felt it snap clean in half.

“I'm sorry. Again? When have I said anything about it to you in the first place! A few sarcastic comments while shooting some nets? I have been in love with Lydia since the third grade. I finally thought it was going somewhere and she ditches me for a complete douche bag who spends half his life working on his abs. But you know what, this isn't even about that. I got seven shades of shit kicked out of me. For you. To send a message _to you_. And you know what the hilarious part of that is? _You didn't even notice._ I had a split lip for, what, three days after Gerard beat me up, because that's who it was since you never asked. Not once. Not even once. All you could think about was Allison.

“You're my best friend Scott. You have been since kindergarten. You are the guy I go to with everything and I used to be that for you but now... what Isaac's your new bff? All I have done for the last six months is help you with your messed up life and what do I get in return? A fit lip and a 'you'll get over it'.”

“What the hell, Stiles?” Scott said. He was backing away. The werewolf scared of the little boy throwing a hissy fit. And Stiles liked it. For once, he was the one backing someone into a wall. “What's gotten into you?”

“What's gotten into me? Two months ago I watched a guy get crushed to death. I couldn't even turn my head away. All I could do was close my eyes and try to ignore the crunching sound. I got held up at gun point by a complete psycho who nearly killed my Dad. God, my Dad... I don't even know what my Dad thinks. I'm not cool enough to take drugs, he probably thinks I'm a complete screw up now rather than the partial screw up I've always been. I hope he does because god knows what it would do to him to know the truth. I needed someone. I needed my best friend to look after me and tell me everything was alright, and you weren't there Scott. _You weren't there_.”

Stiles could feel his face twisted with an anger he had never felt before. He didn't care. He wanted Scott to see what a mess he was.

“Do you know what day it is Scott? Do you at least remember that?”

Scott squinted at him for a moment before realisation set in.

“Oh my God. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking.”

Scott took a few steps towards Stiles, but he just stepped backwards out of reach. Turning away Stiles scrunched up his eyes and stopped the tears that were threatening to come.

“I don't get it,” Isaac said. He'd been trying to slink back into the shadows but curiosity got the better of him. “What day is it?”

Stiles wiped his nose with the sleeve of his hoody and tried to control his fury. As much as he needed Scott to see his pain, he didn't want to show Isaac. 

“My mom. She died two years ago today. Renal failure.”

Isaac swore softly. 

“I asked you to do this one thing for me, Scott,” said Stiles. “Just for one day, be my friend and act like we're thirteen again before werewolves and kidney transplant waiting lists. To play Halo, and watch bad movies. But you couldn't even do that for me, could you? I'm out of here.”

“Stiles...”

“Don't Scott. I can't look at you right now. I'll see you tomorrow at school.”

Stiles didn't look back as he walked out. He was high on fury and knew he had to get out of there quickly before the soul shattering sadness kicked in. All he needed to do was get to his car, drive a few blocks and then he could break down into full on, uncontrolled, ugly crying like he hadn't done since his Mom died.

Unfortunately he never made it into his car. Standing there in front of his jeep, hands in his jacket pockets, was Derek Hale.

 

*****

 

Dr. Deaton stood by his car when he felt the shift in the air. He didn't need to look up to know who was there.

“It's been a long time since one of your lot came out this way.”

The woman in white stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight. It caught upon her robe like the midday sun, tinted blue by the night.

“It's been a long time since we've had reason to, Sentinel Deaton.”

“Sentinel... it's been a long time since someone called me that too.”

“Well the times they are a changing.”

“You mean Gerard? Do you know what that thing he's become is.”

Deacon had only caught a glimpse of the monster that had Gerard's twisted body had become. He'd seen a Kanima; alpha, beta and omega. Gerard Argent was not a Kanima.

“We know. But that is not what concerns the Order. It's the Alpha pack that's decided to go on its little ramgage. This is Hale territory, has been since Beacon Hills was first settled. There are only two of that line left now. The balance is off. I'm here to make sure that it is restored.”

“I remember the last time I watched the balance get restored last time. Lot of people died.”

“Everything dies, Sentinel. You know that.”

Dr. Deacon shook his head and opened the door to his car. 

“If you don't actually have anything to say or any orders I have places I need to be so...”

“Sorry to keep you.” The woman in white managed to sound apologetic. “I just need to know a few things about one of the local residents here.”

The hood turned to look at the surgery.

“You mean Scott? Isaac? They only got turned a few months ago. It's in the report, I sent it off last week.”

“No, neither of them. The kid who just went inside. I need to know everything about Stiles Stilinski.”

 


	3. Streetlit Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Stiles thinks his day can't get any worse... Derek happens.

 “Do you mind getting the hell off of my car?” Stiles said. As much as he tried he couldn't keep the catch out of his voice. He just wanted to go somewhere and let himself be upset. He didn't need this. Not today.

“I'm probably doing you a favour. It's only a matter of time before this death trap kills you.”

“Well the last time I went to get my car repaired the guy tried to charge me $1500 and then got crushed by a pneumatic lift, so you're probably right but I am really not in the mood for this Derek, so _get the hell off of my car_.”

Derek moved to one side and watched Stiles as he fumbled with the lock. He was glad of the dim lights in the parking lot, but knowing werewolves Derek could probably smell his misery. Stiles couldn't make out the lock too well in the dark and he ended up dropping the keys.

“Goddamn it!”

Stiles kicked his tyre in frustration, staggering back as soon as the pain shot through his foot. One day he would learn not to do that. He could hear Derek laughing and turned away, fully aware of how ridiculous he was.

He stooped to pick up the keys and ended up banging his head against the car instead. Derek's laugh grew and echoed around the empty lot. Stiles sat down on the tarmac, leaning against his car.

“Go on, Hale. Laugh away. My life has been a mess since the day I met you so you might as well enjoy it.”

“Your life has always been a mess.”

In one smooth motion Derek scooped up the dropped keys, jangling them just out of Stiles' reach, taunting him like a cat with a laser pointer. He wasn't going to take the bait. He wasn't even going to look at them.

“Do you mind getting your crotch out of my face,” said Stiles. “It's ruining my view.”

“Of the parking lot?”

“The way that the street lights hit the bags of animal crap fill me with a sense of poetic ennui. Now will you kindly go talk to your little cublings and leave me to my misery.”

Derek regarded the keys in his hand, spinning them around his fingers. He frowned. The man was all eyebrows.

“I suppose I should. You know the alphas already have Boyd and Erika? They could be coming after Isaac and Scott next. I should keep an eye on the few allies I have left.”

“Not my problem,” Stiles muttered to himself, but Derek seemed remarkably deaf all of a sudden.

“If I only knew where they were...”

“So don't care.”

“Killing an alpha is harder than killing a beta and there are at least half a dozen of them.”

“Why do you people always just kill each other?” Stiles asked. “Can't you ever just, I don't know, talk? Friendly debate? Arm wrestle?”

“Because, Stilinski, they're alphas. In a pack. Every time they kill a werewolf, they get stronger. Every time they take over another wolf's territory, they get stronger. They're alphas because they've killed an alpha.”

“Like you did?”

Derek clenched his jaw and glared at Stiles.

“Yes. Like I did. The difference is they didn't do it to save people, or to put a rogue werewolf down like I did. Do you know the reason they're here? Because I'm a new alpha. I haven't had time to build up a real pack. I'm weak to them, an easy target. They didn't kill because they had to. They did it for power and they'll do it again.”

Stiles looked into Derek's eyes, hard as ever. Unreadable.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Stiles said.

“They're faster, stronger and more ruthless than you can possibly imagine. They're going to come at us,” Derek said. He was stood in the light of the street light, his shadow cast long against the wall behind him. “And we'll be ready when they do.”

For a moment the words hung in the air. Stiles could practically hear the epic overture playing in his head. God, that man loved to be dramatic.

“Well, you certainly seem to have a hold on the situation,” Stiles said. He struggled to his feet in a mess of limbs. “Go ahead and make your wolf's bane bullets and your mountain ash grenades and whatever else you find in Doc Deaton's spice rack of wonder that can take down an alpha. Scott's already got it out, trying to find the perfect seasoning for roasted Gerard Argent. I am going home. Can I get my keys back?”

Stiles reached out for them but Derek just span them round his finger. 

“Please?” Stiles asked. It was cold, he was tired and his ass hurt from sitting on the tarmac for too long. All he wanted to do was go home, shower, maybe join his dad in drowning his sorrow's in the bottom of a glass of Jack. What he did not want to be doing was standing around a parking lot while a testosterone drunk werewolf droned on about his plans for world domination.

“You were just yelling at Scott about not involving you, and not telling you anything. Now I'm trying to let you know what's going on you don't want to know.”

“You were listening?” Stiles buried his face in his hands. He really shouldn't have expected anything else. “You know its considered rude in most of the world to use super human hearing to eaves drop on people.”

“I didn't have to use supernatural powers to hear you. The whole town heard you. Half the state heard you.”

“Yeah, well,” said Stiles, turning away to rest his arms on the roof of his car. “It's been kind of a rough day.”

“I heard,” Derek said. Drawing up beside Stiles, he leaned against the car, looking away out over the empty lot. “I'm sorry about your Mom. She was friends with mine. I think.”

Stiles's gaze jerked sideways. The man beside him stared into the distance, his eyes looking out through time to a world taken away from him. Stiles knew that look. He'd seen it in his Dad's eyes when he thought his son wasn't looking. It was a look he'd hidden behind a wall of sarcasm and good humour. There were times Stiles forgot that Derek was the way he was for a reason.

“You think?” he asked.

“She used to come to the house a lot when I was younger, before the fire. They used to sit in the kitchen for hours, I never knew what they were talking about. Figured it was just Mom stuff. Boring.”

Derek looked across at him. He understood. They'd both lost the people they loved most.

“I... I didn't know that.”

Derek looked away and Stiles knew that what ever moment of understanding they had just had passed as Derek began to walk towards the surgery.

“Forgetting something?” Stiles called. Confusion from Derek was his only response. “You still have my keys. The ones that let me get the hell out of this awkward situation.”

Derek regarded the keys in his hand as if suddenly remembering they were there, then threw them to Stiles who, of course, missed them completely. Watching them arcing through the sky, knowing even as he reached for them he had no hope of grabbing them, Stiles realised this really was not his day. Derek's cackling at his clumsiness did not helping matters. The prickle of anger he'd fired against Scott was flickering into life again.

Stiles stooped to pick up the keys.

“Bite me.” 

Derek grinned again. More Cheshire cat than big bad wolf.

“You know, all you ever have to do is ask.”

Stiles marched up until he was a few inches from Derek's face. Even though Derek stood a good few inches taller than him and was carrying several extra pounds of honed muscle, the older man still looked shocked by his sudden forcefulness. 

“No. Not ever. No. I said no to your uncle. What makes you think I'll say yes to you?”

“My uncle asked to turn you?” Derek was shocked by that, eye brows furrowing again.

“Why? Surprised he'd want a weak, little useless weed like me in his pack of super strong uber wolves?”

“No. It makes perfect sense he'd want you. The bite takes care of your physical failings. You, however, are smart. There are too many weres out there who think because they have claws and teeth they don't need to use what's in their heads. What surprised me was that he asked.”

Stiles was suddenly very aware of how close they were. He could feel Derek's breath, see the twinge of the muscles in his neck.

“I guess I never thought about it that way.” Stiles backed away towards his car, knowing that Derek was watching him the whole way there. He was halfway into his drivers seat when he heard the other man's voice again.

“I meant it Stilinski. We could use you in the pack. Officially. You ever change your mind, all you have to do is ask.”

Looking up all he could see was Derek's retreating back. Stiles wanted him to turn around and look at him, to read some measure of what he meant in his face. He watched Derek walk away towards the surgery without looking back, started the ignition and drove home.

 


	4. Father and Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles shares a drink with his father, raising a toast to the woman they both lost two years ago. Stiles didn't know how much he'd been loosing of his Dad either.

 Throwing his keys into the bowl on the hallway table, Stiles looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were tinged red a little, but only if you really looked. On any other day his Dad might have picked up on it but by now he'd be too far through his bottle to notice if Stiles had walked in by dancing the hula. Stiles didn't blame him. Anything was better than the gaping hole that had once been his Mom.

Her voice echoed out from the lounge.

“ _Put that away! I only just got the baby to sleep._ ”

Right on queue the cries of his infant self screamed from the TV set, followed by his mother's admonitions to his father. Static cut for a second before he heard people singing 'Happy Birthday' to him for the first time. His mother would be propping him up, trying to stay out of the view of the camera whilst also stopping him from ploughing face first into his cake.

Walking into the living room he saw his father slumped in his chair, a half empty bottle of bourbon in his hand. Stiles took the remote from his unresisting hand and turned off the screen.

His father sniffed loudly but didn't protest.

“Thanks, son.” 

His father sat forward and pulled over two glasses. This was the one day of the year his Dad not only let him drink, but poured the shot himself.

“To Mom,” said Stiles. They clinked their glasses together then shotted them in one. It burned his mouth and throat but he could already feel the warm glow of it snaking through his limbs. His father smacked his lips together as Stiles collapsed into the sofa. 

On his Mom's birthday he and his father would spend the day together. They'd go to her favourite restaurant and that bit of the park she loved and just sit around, remembering her as she had been. But not today. Today they spent in their own way. Stiles' Dad lost himself in his work, threw himself into it with all of his might. Then he came home and he drank until he put on the old home videos and he drank some more. Stiles pretended it wasn't happening in the hope it went away. It didn't. It never did.

From the mantelpiece Mom grinned at him from a dozen pictures. Spectacular in her puffy sleeved wedding dress. In paint splattered jeans as she stood on the porch of her first home. Smiling with Mickey Mouse when they'd taken him to Disney. Happier times. Before she started hiding how sick she was until she'd gotten so weak people in the street were asking and he'd demanded to know. Before doctors appointments and specialists telling them that the dialysis wasn't working any more; that they needed to find a new kidney fast. Before waiting lists and tissue matching tests. Before the time ran out.

There were days he could forget that he'd failed her. He'd been so sure that he'd be a match. He was her son. Everyone said how alike they were, so how could he not be? It was the one test in his life he had needed to pass, to just have a compatible kidney, that was all. But no. He wasn't even the same blood type.

“I miss her Dad.” Stiles didn't even try to keep the tears out of his voice. “I miss her so much.”

He curled up on the couch and buried his face between his knees. Maybe if he crunched himself up small enough he could crush that gaping abyss, make it smaller and smaller until it didn't exist at all.

Strong arms surrounded him as his father pulled him close. The clutched at each other, life rafts in a sea of sorrow.

Stiles was sobbing in earnest. Incoherent words choked out between agonies.

“It's my fault. It's all my fault.”

“Shh. Don't start that again,” said his Dad. Stroking his hands against Stiles shawn head, it was like he was six years old and all that was wrong was a bad dream. “You tried. You did everything he could.”

“But I should have tried harder! I should have found someone!”

“Stiles, you hacked into her computer trying to find contact details. Whatever happened with her family, she didn't want them in her life.”

“Even if they could have saved her life? It just doesn't make any sense?”

Stiles thought about the woman in white from that morning.

_I knew the woman your mother once was._

“She really never said anything about her family, her life? Not in the twenty years you knew her? You knew absolutely nothing about her before she showed up in Beacon Hills.”

“No Stiles, I don't. I asked a few times, but she made it obvious she didn't want to tell me. Something bad happened to her.”

“And that didn't bother you?” said Stiles. He jumped to his feet, confronting his father. “You're a cop Dad, how could you just let that go? Knowing that something was wrong and just leaving it? What if someone was after her?”

“Are you yelling at me for respecting your Mom's privacy?”

“Yes! No! I don't understand. I could have saved her, I know I could have done. She just had to tell us who she really was. All I needed to know was... something, anything. What state was she born in? Do you have any idea how many Jane Roberts were born in 1963 in California alone? I do. And those are just the ones I could get records for. I mean, we don't even know if Roberts was her real maiden name. I even started looking for my granddad but I couldn't find anyone. What if she made that up too?”

“Stiles, what's got you riled up like this?”

Stiles sank back down into couch and disappeared into his hands. He'd never cared about his Mom's past while she was alive. Parents didn't have pasts. Not ones that mattered. It was Mom stuff. When she'd been dying all he'd cared about was trying to find a way to save her, her past was just a tool to be used to find a kidney donor. Now she was gone. He'd never know the woman his mother once was.

The woman in white knew. Only she wasn't telling.

“Nothing,” Stiles lied. “It's just the date. It... brings everything back.”

His fathers hand rubbed his back.

“I know. I know.”

They sat like that for some minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. Stiles thought back through the piles of notes that had once festooned his room. He'd carried on searching even after his Mom had passed away. It had obsessed him. Somewhere a mother didn't even know she'd lost her daughter. That didn't seem right. He'd phoned every contact he could lay his hands on. Tracked down every Jane Roberts he could to see if they were linked all to no avail.

One day he'd come home from school ready to begin the search anew, only to find every scrap and note had been removed from their house. He'd screamed and cried for hours, but his father had stood strong, a fact Stiles was glad of now.

The next day they'd buried his mother. Or the body that has once been his mother.

“It bothered me.”

“What?” Stiles looked up, he'd forgotten his father was there as well.

“Not knowing. It did bother me. I started searching, not long after we started dating. I was a cop, if only a junior back then, so I had a bit more power than you did. To this day I don't know how she found out, but she just had a way of knowing things. She threatened to dump me if I carried on looking, so I stopped. It killed me, but I loved her. Like I have never loved anything before or since. Well, until the day you were born.”

Stiles laughed. “You're really not my type.”

His dad laughed too and drew him into a one armed hug.

“We're doing alright, aren't we?”

“Yeah Dad. We're doing alright.”

Stiles wiped his face on his sleeve. He was tired. Too much had happened in one day. Shower. That had been the plan. Shower and bed. He'd wake up tomorrow and it wouldn't be the anniversary of his mother's death. There would, of course, still be a pack of alpha werewolves causing havoc all over town but it would be a new day and he'd be able to handle it.

He got up, tapping his Dad on the arm by way of good night.

“Night Dad.”

“Night son... hey weren't you supposed to be hanging out with Scott tonight?”

Frustration reared in his belly for a moment, but he was too weary to pay it much attention. That was another one of those things that would be easier to deal with in the morning.

“We did a bit,” he lied, “but he's technically grounded at the moment. His Mom only loaned him to me because, you know, the whole death thing.” Scott's Mom had remembered, even if her idiot son had not.

“Fair enough. It's good though. You're getting out again. You were kind of... by yourself for a while there, after the situation in the police station.”

“You mean the situation where I was held up at gun point and my father nearly got killed by a teenage psychopath? That one?”

“Yeah,” his dad said, smiling at him. “That's the one. Good to see your sarcasm is set all the way up to eleven. But I'm glad. You're young. You should be hanging out with your friends.”

“What friends?” Stiles muttered to himself. He was a little surprised his father had noticed his forced solidarity.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. I was just talking to myself. Ignore me. It's usually best to.”

“Don't I know it.”

Stiles headed out into the hall, passing by the table where his father's notes were still spread out. Stiles could't help but look. Pictures of Lydia and Jackson together at some fancy event was littered around the table. It was the ones that they news was showing non stop. 'Have you seen this girl?'. The hunt for Lydia was going badly and it was his father that was having to take the flack for it. She was smart, she was managing to keep both herself and Jackson under the radar. Which was impressive, seeing as how everyone thought Jackson was dead. That one was his Dad's crowing glory when it came to media at the moment. County Sheriff manages to loose corpse. That will look good when his re-election comes up.

Mixed in are a few photo's of Gerard. He was the principal of the local high school. The Argents couldn't just cover that one up, not while they didn't know if Gerard was alive or not. Saying he'd gone back to Kansas or where ever they were from and then having his body show up three months down the road would look very, very bad. So Gerard was missing and the Argents were leaving every false clue they dared to. 

So many missing persons and he hoped his Dad didn't find a single one of them. As much as he wanted to see Lydia again, he wanted to keep his father safe more and she was hanging with the wrong crowds these days. Much like himself.

Bed. That was what he needed. A shower and then bed. He headed upstairs, hoping that the warm water would wash away all of his worries, if only until tomorrow.


	5. Shooting Hoops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles hopes that practising his lacrosse swing might help calm him down. It's not working. Then Derek turns up again and makes everything oh so much better.

 “Damn it!”

Stiles danced in frustration, swinging the lacrosse stick about his head. The ring vibrated, taunting him. How had he scored those goals? Three. He'd been there. He knew he'd gotten them all. It hadn't been a dream, it had happened.. Now he couldn't even get one stupid little ball through that stupid little ring he was using for target practice.

All day he'd gone without seeing Scott for any length of time. Of course Scott had tried to apologise a few times but the anger was still too close to the surface. He'd completely tanked his algebra test because he was so wound up. At lunch he'd found one of the birthday presents he'd gotten for Lydia in his locker and thought he would break inside. All in all, another really crappy day. It would only take one, just one teeny, tiny, little ball to go through that massive hoop and it would mean the day wasn't a complete loss.

He flicked up another ball into the net, cradling it back and forth as he backed away for his run up. Closing in he pulled his arm back and flicked it out towards the target, following its path through the air as it went wide and hit off the strut.

This time he tried to snap the stick over his thigh. The aluminium didn't even bend, instead it hammered into his bone and left him hopping on one leg. 

A slow clap came across the evening air. Stiles didn't even bother to turn around. There was only one person who would be out here, lurking at the edge of the woods spying on a high school kid.

“What do you want Derek,” said Stiles. He bent down to pick up the stick and another ball, foregoing the run up instead choosing to line up the shot as best he could.

“I was looking for Scott but your constant failure seems far more entertaining.”

For a moment Stiles considered flinging the next ball at Derek's head, but it would only fall short or go six feet wide. Even if he did get close, Derek would probably catch it and throw it back at him.

“Well. I don't know where Scott is.”

Another miss.

“You two not kissed and made up I take it?”

“Got him to join your pack?”

Right now Derek would be clenching his jaw, flaring his nostrils and tilting his head to just that angle, letting Stiles know just how pissed of he was at that comment. Stiles wasn't looking though, which would only be winding him up even more.

“I'll take your silence as a no.”

Another miss.

“I can see why he doesn't want to join you though,” Stiles carried on. “The alphas aren't after him. They're after you. Your pack. Why would he want to make himself a target?”

“He's a werewolf in my territory,” Derek said. His voice got closer as he walked over. “They'll come after him whether he's in my pack or not.”

“You're just worried he's stealing away your new little puppy,” said Stiles, thinking of how Scott had been with Isaac. That was one thing at least. Whenever Scott tried to talk to him today he'd been on his own. The shadow had been dismissed, at least for a time.

He could see Derek out the corner of his eye now, a dark blot in the twilight.

“Isaac is loyal to me,” Derek said.

“Why not get Isaac to bring Scott in to the love nest? Then you can stop bothering me.”

Another miss.

“What makes you think I'm not trying that already. Look, Stiles. I don't want anyone else to die.”

“Except the alphas.”

“No. Even them. I don't like killing people, but I do it when I have to. To protect me and mine. If I thought I could get them to just leave then I would. But they won't. They want my power for their own. They've already taken half of it away by capturing Erika and Boyd. With the pack split, we're vulnerable. This isn't the first time I've seen this pack at work.”

Stiles stopped, dropping the stick to his side and turned to Derek.

“It's not?”

“No. They came out here once before. I was too young to fight, but they arrived on our door step one day and challenged the pack to a duel.”

“A duel? Like, pistols at dawn?”

“Kind of. Except it was midnight and we only had our claws. We were stronger than they thought. Most of my pack were born werewolves. It was part of our whole lives. We killed a few of them and they ran away with their tails between their legs. Now they've come back and they want revenge.”

So that was why Derek was so adamant that killing was the only way. Blood begets nothing but blood. This wasn't about power, this was about making the Hale family suffer and now a bunch of innocent teens were going to get caught up in the back lash.

“Death equals all.” Stiles said. 

“Death is what?”

“Nothing. It's just something I heard someone say a while back. Seemed appropriate.”

It was something the woman at the graveyard had said. It had been bothering him ever since. What was that even supposed to mean, and why in God's name had she said it to his mother's grave?

Stiles looked at the stick in his hand. The futility of it all just struck him then. Werewolves were fighting over ancient feuds, the team had just made state and his mother was dead. What did any of it mean? What was the freaking point?

“I never understood the fascination with this game,” Derek said, plucking the stick away from Stiles. He spun it like a quarter staff. Everything was a weapon to Derek. Even people. 

“You didn't play?”

“No. I got enough rough housing at home. I didn't see the point of putting on pads so I could chase a ball around.”

“So what were you doing all through high school? Hanging out with all the _Rebels Without Causes,_ swapping tips on how to look cool in leather jackets?”

Derek rolled the ball against his foot then used the edge of the head to try scoop up the ball. At first it just slipped off.

“I was kind of a loner at school.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” said Stiles.

This time Derek managed to pick up the ball, bouncing it a few times in the net. 

“My pack was my family. Literally. I didn't see the point of anyone else. Then I got together with Kate Argent, which meant I was pretty much just having sex all the time.”

Unbidden an image of Kate and Derek going at it on the bleachers came into Stiles mind. He shook it away, but he was suddenly aware of the way Derek's shirt clung to his biceps as he brought up the stick to shoot.

“Then Kate burned my family alive and forced me to run for my life.”

With a flick of the stick Derek sent the ball straight through the ring, his super human strength carrying it across the pitch into the trees.

Derek pushed the stick into Stiles' chest, making him stagger.

“If you see Scott, let him know what I said.”

Stiles watched as he ran off into the night in the long, ungainly walk of a werewolf. 

“So I guess I'll go get the ball then?” Stiles called out after him. Only silence greeted him.

It was still fairly light out so he could find his way in the woods fairly well. A few exploratory kicks of the leaves revealed nothing but served as a great way to relieve his tension. At least he couldn't miss them.

“You seem to have surrounded yourself with wolves, young Mr. Stilinski. You really are like your mother.”

Stiles turned to see the woman in white propped against a tree, throwing a single lacrosse ball up and down. Her hood was still pulled forward, shadowing her face from him.

“So you're lurking around the shadows as well now?”

“Not lurking Little Red. Spying.” She threw the ball over to him and he caught it perfectly. That never happened. And he really needed to stop wearing this hoody all the time. “You are a _very_ interesting young man Mr. Stilinski.”

“I am? I've never been accused of that before. _I_ think I'm a very interesting person. Just having a tough time convincing the rest of the world. And stop calling me Mr. Stilinski. It makes me feel like I'm about to be sent to the principle’s office.”

Even when he was this close he couldn't see what lay under her hood. The white seemed to shine like a 100W bulb, but the space around her face looked dimmed. Whatever this woman was Stiles was almost positive it wasn't 100% human.

“But you are _Mr. Stilinski_. More interesting than you ever thought.” 

She was pacing around him now, her long coat rippling like it was underwater.

“You're strong,” she said, tapping him on the side of the head. “In here.” His heart. “And here. You love without shame, a very rare thing. You do what must be done, for no other reason than it has to. You hide behind your humour and your wit, but all you are hiding is how much the world can throw at you and still leave you standing.”

“Are we done with the creepy psycho analysis,” he said. His voice was shaking slightly, trying to pass off growing apprehension as sarcasm.

“Oh no,” said the woman as she faced him. Beneath the hood he could barely make out the shape of her face. “We have barely begun.”

Her hand shot out and grasped him around his throat. Fingernails dug in. He couldn't breathe. He felt a jolt run through him. His vision filled with white flashes. Static resounded in his ears. The whiteness flickered into images.

_A dozen wolves at war, blood slick across their face. A young boy clings to his mother._

_A house burning. Screaming from within._

_Scott and Alison kissing in the back of a car._

_Derek holding a bone saw to his arm._

_His father._

_His mother._

_Drums._

_Chanting._

_Screaming._

_Silence._


	6. Call off the hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up 3 miles from school in the middle of the woods is a new experience for Stiles. He's got some explaining to do.

 When Stiles woke up he found himself face first in a pile of leaves and something was digging into his side. Rolling to one side he tried to work out what it was. This was a mistake. It seemed that every muscle had seized up during the night, heating how with the white hot lances of pure pain. He held himself as still as he could, trying to stop the pain from spreading, then began to stretch out little by little until he could move again. Now it was merely agony, rather that debilitating pain.

He sat up. This, too, was a mistake. It was like his brain was lagging a couple of seconds behind, swooping into place when he sat up and jostling for a few seconds to get back into position. This was the worst hangover he'd ever had. Even after he'd helped comfort Scott with half a bottle of Jack, it was nothing compared to this.

It wasn't until Stiles had managed to persuade himself to stand up that he realised he hadn't actually been drunk yesterday. His vision shifted in his eyes and he saw the woman in white again, her hand clamped round his throat. Smacking himself in the temple his sight returned to normal. It was post traumatic stress disorder all over again. He should be getting used to this.

He was standing in the woods, he knew the place. It was only a few miles away from school.

Crap! School!

He looked at his watch. It was already 9am. He was late to class. What was he going to tell his Dad? Knowing him there would probably be a search party out looking for him already. The state police had probably been called in. Choppers would undoubtedly be circling in the county right now. He started jogging.

Sure enough when he made it to school half an hour later there were already cop cars in the parking lot. He could see his Dad on the stairs. 

“Hey, look! There he is.”

The Sheriff's head whipped up to look at him and Stiles did his best attempt at looking sheepish. He'd been trying to think up an excuse the whole way here and come up with precisely squat.

“Thank god,” his Dad said. His body hit against Stiles' hard as father and son embraced.

“I'm alright Dad.”

A smack landed hard on the back of his head.

“Where the hell were you! I've been worried sick. We were just organising a search party. You don't come home all night and then we find your car abandoned on the lacrosse pitch with the keys still in the ignition. I thought you'd been murdered or abducted or... I don't know what I thought.”

“Still here, alive and breathing I'm afraid,” said Stiles.

It's the sheriff looking at him now. The cop. The Dad that used his police interrogation training to make him admit to stealing cookies. 

“You going to tell me where you were last night?” 

“I'm... not really sure where I was last night?” Honesty, he decided, was the best policy. At least until he could come up with a better lie. His father did not believe him for a moment.

“You're not sure? How can you not be sure?”

Stiles wracked his brains and blurted out the first thing that came to him.

“I was on 'shrooms?”

His Dad hit him up side the head again. One day he was going to have to take drugs, or rob a bank or make out with a guy just to show the world that he wasn't as boring as his Dad thought he was.

The bell pierced the silence and everyone began to make their way back into class.

His father took a deep breath in an attempt to cleanse himself.

“You're okay. For now that's all that matters We will talk about this later.” His tone suggested that this will involve sitting on opposite sides of a table with a lamp pointed in Stiles' face. “If you're feeling well enough to make sarcastic comments then you can get your skinny ass into class before you waste anyone else's time.”

“I made sarcastic comments when I had appendicitis-” he started before seeing his father's face. Then he just nodded and avoided eye contact. “Yes sir. Time for classes. Sorry for the worry.”

“You will be. I'm going to ground you until you graduate.”

“I look forward to it.”

His Dad clipped him round the back of the ear once more for good measure and then hugged him. Stiles waved at his Dad as he walked back to his colleagues, getting ready to call off the man hunt.

Stiles began walking to his classes when Scott and Isaac ambushed him in the corridor.

“What the hell? We thought that you'd been dragged off by alphas or Gerard or... I don't know what else.”

“I'm fine. I take it you were eavesdropping.”

“Sorry...” said Isaac.

“Don't be. Saves me explaining again” said Stiles.

“So what really happened?” asked Scott.

“I don't know. Really. I don't. I went to go get a ball that had rolled off into the woods and then the next thing I know I'm waking up in the north clearing feeling like I've just downed 15 shots of tequila.”

Stiles didn't know why he didn't mention the woman in white. He went to form the words explaining about her, but completely different ones came out instead.

“And mushrooms? That's the excuse you're using,” said Isaac. Evidently, he didn't believe that Stiles was interesting enough to be on drugs either. It was true, but it still hurt.

“I couldn't think of a better reason. I feel like crap, I spent all night sleeping in the woods and now I have to come up with something better than 'I don't remember' to appease my Dad.”

“We'll think of something,” Scott said, taking him by the shoulder. “We always do.”

Stiles put his hand over Scott's by way of thanks. A small show of solidarity. Of peace. They were friends again. The fight was over.

“Anyway I better call Derek,” said Isaac. His voice was slightly too high. He walked off, dialling his phone.

“Derek?” asked Stiles.

“Yeah,” said Scott. “As soon as he heard you were missing he called up to say he'd seen you at the lacrosse pitch last night. He was the one who found your car. Followed your scent into the woods but he lost it.”

Scott looked away after Isaac for a moment. He wasn't seeing the beta though, he was seeing the alpha.

“What were the two of you doing out there anyway?” Scott asked him.

“I was practising my aim, he was looking for you.” Stiles remembered the conversation they'd had before. “You should really talk to him about the whole alpha thing, you know.”

“You're standing up for Derek?”

It surprised Stiles too.

“He's got that whole scary 'because I'm the alpha' thing going on, you know. He must have worked his mojo on me.”

“That stuff only works on his pack,” said Scott like it was the most idiotic thing on earth to think otherwise.

“Maybe he just scares me then,” Stiles said. He planted his feet to face Scott full on. “These guys are dangerous and they're going to kill people. I don't want to see more people die, especially people I actually care about.”

Scott looked taken aback by this sudden show. It was true though. He'd seen too many people die. They both had.

“Stiles. I'm sorry I forgot about your Mom. I should have been there for you.”

“It's alright. It would have been a crappy day with or without you so...”

He trailed off just as Isaac came bounding back up.

“Derek said you were an idiot, but I think he's glad your back.” From the sound of it, Isaac only shared the former sentiment.

“Good. I might go and see him after work tonight,” Scott said. “Get some of that training you're always on about.”

“Really?” said Isaac. The air around him seemed to brighten for an instant. Misty lines emanated from him, linking him to everyone around him. Strands of yellow and orange swept around the corridor weaving through the world. A strong, unwavering chain of gold led in a straight line out the nearest window. Bright red led to Scott. Shifting purple and green came towards Stiles and seemed to disappear into his chest. 

He rubbed his eyes and cleared his vision.

“You alright man?” Scott asked putting a concerned hand on his shoulder.

Stiles looked up at Scott and Isaac. It was like someone was snapping pieces of Lego together in his brain. With a click, it all fit together, edges joining seamlessly.

“Stiles? Hello in there?” said Scott.

“Uh? What? Yeah. I'm... I'm fine. Uhh... don't you have algebra or something now?”

“Yeah, so do you. Your point?”

“I need to, um... find my car and... stuff. You better run, you're late.”

“You sure you'll be okay?”

Scott looked at him. He knew that really the answer was no, but that Stiles would say yes. Scott would drop it anyway because that is what friends do. Instead he waved good bye and started jogging down the corridor. Beside him, the other wolf started to walk off in his own direction.

“Isaac,” said Stiles, grabbing his arm. “Can I have a word?”

“I'm kind of late to class,” said Isaac.

“I've been missing all morning and no one's noticed, one more class isn't going to hurt... and I really think we need to talk about the fact that you're in love with Scott.” 

 

 

 

 


	7. Bathroom Buddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Stiles and Isaac to have a serious talk and what place is better than the boy's bathroom.

 “I really think we need to talk about the fact that you're in love with Scott.” 

Isaac looked at Stiles, his mouth hanging open in shock. His head darted away as his hands played about with the strap of his bag.

“What? You're crazy. I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh my god, I can't believe I never saw it before. You are totally in love with Scott!”

“Keep your voice down,” Isaac said. He grabbed Stiles by the arm and looked down the corridor. It was practically empty, everyone was already in class, but he still dragged them both into the bathroom.

“Dragging guys into the bathroom. Way to bust the stereotype!” said Stiles.

Isaac ran his fingers through his hair, knowing he was rumbled. Pacing back and forth, he muttered the usual 'oh god crap what do I do' on repeat.

“Trying to steal a straight guy away from his girlfriend as well? It's so cliché. What would Scott say if he found out?”

Isaac slammed him into the wall, arm pressed against Stiles' windpipe to stop him flailing.

“Scott isn't going to find out about this. At least not from you.”

Feeling the absence of any real bravery, Stiles resorted to snarky comments. As usual.

“Or what? You're going to kill me? For outing you to one person? For trying to stop you from wrecking my best friends life?”

Isaac's eyes were glowing golden. Stiles tried to ignore the pin pricks of claws that scratched at his chest.

“No, but you'd be surprised what you can live through,” Isaac growled.

He stepped back, letting Stiles go, and recommenced his pacing.

Stiles rubbed his neck. It seemed he was forever getting slammed into walls and backed against lockers.

“So what? Huh?” Stiles said staring at him. “What's your plan? Pretend to help him find a way to get back together with his girlfriend, while all the while you're actually driving them further apart. There every day, good old dependable, comforting Isaac. Get closer to him every day until one day, when he's feeling vulnerable and unloved because Allison's kicked him in the balls again, you just turn around and 'comfort' him. That it that your plan?”

Isaac stood hunched over the sink, resting his forehead over the mirror. He said something Stiles couldn't make out.

“I'm sorry what was that? _Yes Stiles, I am a great big boyfriend stealer._ ” 

“I said, no!” Isaac spun round. His eyes were going red from straining to hold back the tears. “That's not the plan. That's... that's not it at all.”

His voice broke and he slid down the wall, coming to a heap on the floor. He sobbed, loud and raw, his whole body shaking. The sudden explosion of emotion knocked Stiles off balance.

“I know he's not... that he's not like me,” said Isaac when he finally got a hold over his emotions. His voice was still rough with pain.

“Gay?” Stiles asked. Isaac looked up at him, eyes still swimming with tears, and smiled lopsidedly.

“Yeah. He's not gay. He's straight. Super straight. Like the alpha of straightness. He doesn't and won't ever feel the way I do about him. If I try to make him... I don't want to do that to him. Or to myself.” 

Stiles walked up and leaned on the wall beside him. A vision of Lydia burned in his mind. He hadn't seen her in weeks, but her face was still as clear as if he was looking at her face in the mirror rather than his own.

“I hear you on that one.”

“Besides. He's in love with Allison. He always will be. Always. I care about him, more than I've ever cared about anyone in my life. I want him to be happy, and if that's not with me... well then I'll just have to help him get there. And it'll kill me, knowing that he's out there with someone else, but at least I'll know he's where he's supposed to be. That he's happy.”

Stiles was back on the lacrosse field, watching Lydia hold out a key to Jackson. The two of them embracing in the moonlight. It was then he'd known. She would never love him like that. Even if one day he could finally be in Lydia's arms, he'd never be Jackson. He'd never match up.

“Sorry man,” Stiles said dropping down onto the floor besides him. “Love's a bitch.”

Isaac laughed, his chuckles punctuated with the occasional sob. Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he took a deep breath and steadied himself.

“Lydia?” asked Isaac.

“Lydia,” Stiles replied.

“So. You're not going to 'out' me to Scott.”

“That's your call. As long as you don't do anything to hurt him, I won't tell him. It's hard enough coming to terms with your own sexuality without worrying about everyone knowing about it.”

There must have been something in the way that he spoke because Isaac was squinting at him.

“Wait... you're not... I mean, Lydia... you're not. Are you?”

He wasn't even going to pretend he didn't know what Isaac was on about. It didn't take a genius to work out.

“I prefer to think that I'm keeping all my options available. Equal opportunities dating. You can't help who you fall in love with or who you're attracted to. There's enough problems with the soul crushing rejection without wondering about whether you're gay, straight, bi or miscellaneous other.”

Isaac nodded. It was a fair point. “You're an alright guy Stilinski.”

“I know. If you could go spreading that around the ladies, I'd appreciate it. There's no reason to let them know my love life is as pathetic as yours though.”

Isaac laughed again, properly this time.

“And to think, I was actually jealous of you.”

“Wait.” Stiles leaned forward. “You were jealous. Of me. Stiles Stilinski.”

Isaac looked at him as if he'd been surprised the earth wasn't actually a giant fish.

“Obviously. You're Scott's best friend. You're the guy he goes to for everything. I wanted to be that person. I could deal with him not loving me, but I wanted something instead. I wanted to be the person who he came to. The person he relied on. If I couldn't have all of him, I could have at least had that.”

“Ohh. That explains a lot. That's why you've been trying to edge me out.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Whatever I may feel, you're his best friend. Coming between you two is just as bad as coming between him and Allison.”

“To be honest I always thought it was an order on Derek's part. Separate me out from Scott to try and force him into the pack more.”

Isaac shook his head.

“Derek doesn't really talk about you. He goes all weird when someone does mention you. Gets even more sullen than usual.”

“I didn't think that was possible,” said Stiles.

“You'd be surprised. He's still pretty pissed off at you for the whole pool thing.”

Stiles frowned.

“What, because I dropped him for a few minutes to try get help? I went back to get him didn't I. He would have died with out me. I saved his life. He should be grateful.”

“I think that's the problem.”

“Huh?”

Isaac stood up, leaving a non plussed Stiles on the floor.

“You saved his life,” said Isaac. “That means he owes you one. He can't just let that slide. It's a wolf thing.”

Stiles was getting sick of that phrase. 'It's a wolf thing' seemed to be code for 'I can't be bothered explaining my irrational actions to the stupid human'.

“So he owes me one. I'm pretty sure he's saved my life a couple of times as well.”

“No. Not really. Not like that. You could have run and left him and you would have been safe, but you didn't. You stayed there and you saved his life, nearly at the expense of your own life.”

“Saying thanks would be a start.”

“In case you hadn't noticed, Derek's not really big on the whole relying on others thing. He hates that he's bound to you like that.”

Stiles sat quietly for a moment, thinking. Derek felt he owed Stiles. Stiles felt Derek had owed him for months, but now he knew Derek felt that way too he wasn't sure how to process the information. Instead he decided to file it away under 'may come handy for future nefarious schemes'.

“You should come by the house sometime,” Isaac said to him. “If Scott comes over to train, you should tag along.”

“Sure. Because Derek would _love_ that.”

“Let me worry about Derek.” Isaac offered him a hand up off the floor. “If he's going to be a little bitch about it he should learn to suffer the consequences.”

He looked serious for a moment.

“Besides. You should probably learn a few moves yourself. You've gotten dragged into this but you've not got any of the advantages we have. You should have some training, learn a few moves.”

“Wait. There are moves? I can have moves? I want some moves.”

Isaac held out a hand, waiting for Stiles to take it.

“Truce.”

“No need,” Stiles said. He pulled them both into a big hug just as Danny walked into the bathroom.

“Am I interrupting something.”

Isaac jumped backwards in shock, but Stiles kept his arm firmly about one shoulder.

“Just bro-ing it out, man.”

Danny raised his eyebrows, looking from one to the other as if to say _bros my ass, 'moes more like._ He turned his attention to Stiles, assessing him.

“Sure. Nice to see you down at Jungle this weekend, Stiles. Again.”

“It's a good club,” said Stiles. “Nice people.”

It was true. He seemed to have an affinity with drag queens. They loved him, and they were great at listening to problems when your friends didn't have the time. That and the music was good and the bartenders didn't tend to card you if you flirted with him a little.

Danny said nothing as he walked towards the urinal, flicking an assessing look up and down Stiles then Isaac. The second seemed to reach a much more favourable conclusion. As he walked, Isaac's eyes did unconscious scan of Danny all of their own.

Stiles gaze went from Danny to Isaac and back to Danny again. The air seemed to thicken for a moment. The same tendrils he'd seen out of Isaac before came back into view, this time accompanied by those from Danny. They seemed to be dancing round each other, never quite connecting, colours changing as they came close and moved apart until they all faded away once more.

Maybe it was a little insensitive but hey, it was worth a try.

As Danny came over to wash his hands, Stiles slapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Danny this is Isaac, Isaac this is Danny.”

Danny looked at him... well like he usually did; with a mixture of annoyance and disregard.

“I know who Isaac is. We play on the same team, remember.”

“Exactly my point!” Stiles could feel Isaac cringing but carried on regardless. “Isaac likes long walks in the woods and has a great affinity with animals. Danny likes... well I'm not really sure what Danny likes other than lacrosse and making out with guys, we're not really that close, but hey you got something in common there. Have fun you two.”

He patted him both firmly on the shoulder and walked off before they had a chance to respond. Maybe it was offensive to assume that just because they were gay they'd hit it off straight away, but something told Stiles that he'd set in motion the beginnings of a beautiful, sexy, friendship.

 


	8. Hitting the Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott pursuades Stiles to come to the Hale house with him so that they can train together, but Derek is having none of it. Stiles is stuck on library duty with the man who once tried to kill his date to the dance when he stumbles on some useful information.

 By some miraculous intervention from the gods Stiles managed to talk his way into only being grounded for a week. Scott had come over the first few nights until his Dad had pointed out the point of grounding someone was so that they _couldn't_ see their friends. Stiles suspected he'd only let Scott in in the first place out of relief that they were talking again.

But now the grounding was over, he was foot loose and fancy free. So where was he? At the mall? Getting drunk with his friends? Honing his lacrosse arm? No. He was sitting in a burnt out old house watching his best friend get pummelled by an alpha ranked jack ass while he was staring at an ancient book next to a psycho who'd killed half a dozen people. And had risen from the dead. It was times like these he questioned some of his life choices.

Derek had not been happy to see Stiles when he first walked in after Scott. He'd stood in the door, baring his way, only stepping aside when Scott pointed out that it was both of them or neither.

“You shouldn't be here. This isn't your fight. You shouldn't be getting involved.”

Stiles turned on him. “Well you made it my fight when your uncle with Jesus powers over there made my best friend a werewolf. Scott and me, kind of a package deal.”

Derek stopped in front of him, a sudden wall of muscle inches away from his face.

“How am I supposed to pay you back for saving my life if you get yourself killed?”

Stiles swallowed. It was a lot harder to be tough when Derek was towering over you, hitting you with a factor 50 glare.

“Well, I'm staying here, so maybe you'd better tell me how to fight.”

Derek didn't say anything. Just grunted and stalked off.

“I don't think he's going to be any help to you boy,” came the casual drawl from the edge of the room. Peter.

Stiles hadn't seen much of Peter since the great second coming. Every time he did he found himself being transported back here to the night Peter had died. No. The night they'd killed him. He still had nightmares about that night. The chemical smell of the flames mixed with burning hair. The hiss of flesh as it cooked. He'd not been able to go near pork for a month.

“Well, you're looking better.”

Peter was sat at a desk, surrounded by piles of books. Stiles recognised some of them from when he'd first started reading up on werewolves for Scott. _European Folklore. The Big Bad Wolf – Fact and Fiction, Myth and Mystery. Finding Red Riding Hood. Howl of the moon – Lycanthropy through the ages_. There were a few he didn't know, a couple he didn't even recognise the language of. Peter wasn't looking at the books though. His attention was transfixed by the laptop he sat behind. Overcome with curiosity Stiles walked over and looked around at Peter's screen. There were two documents on display. One he recognised it instantly as the bestiary they'd swiped from the Argent's. The other he assumed must be the one the Hales had compiled over the years.

“If you're going to lurk behind me like that you could at least be useful.”

Peter picked up a book from the pile without looking and passed it to Stiles. After a moments hesitation he took it.

“Ahh. So this time you're taking my offer. Good. Very good. Perhaps I'll change your mind yet.”

Stiles remembered Peter dragging him to the parking lot, taking his wrist, offering him the bite. He remembered wanting to say yes.

How could that man, the man who had torn Lydia to shreds, be sat beside him now, like they were working on a school project together.

“I don't know why Derek even lets you within 100 feet of him,” he said. “You tore his sister _in half_.”

Peter didn't look up from the screen as he scrolled on.

“He's a smart boy. He knows the only way any of us are getting out of this alive is if we work together. I've only just got back to being alive again. I'd quite like to stay that way.”

“Yeah, how exactly _did_ you manage the whole Lazerus act?”

“Lazerus? We were paying attention at bible school.”

“You're not answering my question, Hale.”

“I know. It's called 'deflection'.”

Stiles flicked through the book.

“So what, exactly, am I looking for?” Stiles said.

“Anything on the alphas, Argents or Kanimas.”

“I thought the Argents were dealing with the whole Gerard problem. That's why Alison can't be with Scott... isn't it? She's off hunting down her dear old Grandpa.”

“That's the plan, but there's this funny thing about plans. They have this annoying tendency to fail completely and utterly. You should know that more than anyone Stiles. The two problems are going to run into each other eventually. It doesn't hurt to be prepared.”

Stiles had to nod. The jibe at him was true. Most of his plans did tend to end in at least partial, if not always complete failure. If anyone other than Peter had said it he might have laughed, but now it riled him.

“So what's the deal?” he said running his finger along the contents page. Unfortunately there didn't seem to be any chapters titled 'How to kill an evil, manipulative bastard 101'. “Alpha pack back for revenge for their fallen brothers. They've still got Erika and Boyd. You've got no idea where they're holed up and, oh yeah, there's also a bunch of crazy werewolf hunters out there trying to track down a great big demon monster, which may or may not be also out to kill us all. I miss anything?”

Peter looked impressed.

“You are well informed.”

“Why not challenge them to a duel then. Derek verses whoever.”

Peter shook his head. “They'll never agree to it. Neither would Derek. That's not our way. Besides. The alphas will only settle for total obliteration of this pack. Derek looses, they kill the pack. Derek wins, they go back on their word and kill the pack. Either way, it won't end well for us.”

“If it's not your way then why did they go for the duel before?”

Peter chanced a glance at him.

“How did you know about that?”

“Derek told me. The other week.” Stiles felt defensive. He had no idea why.

“Did he now.” Peter sounded vaguely amused rather than annoyed or surprised. He was laughing slightly to himself. Returning to his typing his eyes flicked over to Stiles. “We had an arbitrator back then. That's not going to work here.”

Stiles sat silently for a moment, thinking it over.

“You think Erika and Boyd are already dead, don't you.”

“No.” Peter spoke like he was discussing which takeout place to order from. “They can still be used to lure us out. They're alive. They probably just wish they weren't.”

That made him shudder.

“Has there been any sign of Gerard.”

“Oh you know, just the usual round of unexplained animal killings. I'm surprised we haven't had an army of animal control experts invading Beacon Hills. Whatever he is, what ever it is he's become it's going to take a while for him to get back up to full strength again. Same as me.”

That made him shudder too. Stiles didn't want to talk about 'The Big Bads' any more and let his attention wander as he looked up to watch Derek and Scott, circling around each other. Werewolf combat seemed to involve a lot of facing each other off, posturing and growling. This was then followed by a brief flurry of motion and claws then ended with Derek sitting on Scott to hold him down.

His head took on a now familiar heavy feeling and he saw the lines around Derek and Scott swim into view. The tendril between the two was dark, but intense, and woven through with gold. This had been happening more and more lately. He could just about hold back these visions now, which was a god send. There is nothing more off putting than sitting in class and suddenly realising that your chemistry teacher is also having inappropriate thoughts about the plunging neckline of Jenny Wallace's sweater. That was red. Lust and passion were red, hostility was darker colours but sometimes seemed brighter than the white lines. The gold lines all came from Derek and wove out to the members of his pack. The strands to Scott were only just appearing, thinner and weaker than the others. Whatever this thing was, these visions, he was beginning to work it out.

Stiles returned to the book. This particular tome did not seem to be the sort of thing that you got from the local library. It was old. Hundreds of years old. The print was strange and hard to read. It was called 'Sonnes of Lilith – Creatures of the Olde World.' Stiles flicked through until he found an engraving of a likely suspect; a huge beast with claw and covered in fur. It bore the caption – lyconus luna.

_Of the many sones of Lilith, the lyconus luna is singular in its duality. The man and the beast exist as separate entities, but whom have contol upon the other. The wolf does not determin the man, nor the man the wolf and yet without both, neither are whole._

Sons.

Stiles thought of his mother. She was sat at his bedside with the big colour book of fairy tales she'd read him every night and that he still had on his shelf back home. He'd liked the pictures, but there was one that had scared him as a kid. In the story of the three little pigs was a great picture of the wolf, standing over the fallen house of straw and laughing. His jaws were dripping with saliva and his mouth bright red. Every time they got to that page he'd hid himself in his covers. Then his mother would turn the pages until the wolf ended up getting stuck in the chimney and all the pigs were laughing at him. He found out since that in most cases the pigs light a fire to kill the wolf, but his story book must have been a bit more child friendly.

Strange that he'd be so scared of a picture of a wolf when now he was surrounded by them, caught in the middle of their bloody politics.

“Peter. Did you know my Mom?”

The old werewolf's fingers froze over the keys. He sat back in his chair and for the first time since walking in, he actually looked at Stiles properly.

“Now where did that come from?”

“Derek told me the other day that sometimes my Mom would come and hang around at your house. I was wondering.”

Peter nodded, considering.

“She did. I did know her. She came to visit me in the hospital actually, one of the few people who did apart from Laura and Derek when they were in town. I remember her voice. It was comforting.”

“She never said anything,” said Stiles. “Not once. It's like I'm finding out she had this whole other life I didn't know anything about. I didn't even know she knew any of the Hale family but it turns out she's best buddies with all of you.”

“I was just someone she knew. She was Talia's friend really.”

“Talia?”

“Derek's Mom. Now there was a werewolf. She was our pack leader, never had a better one. I think it's one of the reasons Derek finds all this so hard, trying to make his own pack. Ours was a family. We were bound by blood. This is – was a bunch of misguided and lost teenagers. He's measuring himself against his mother, but he's got too much of his father in him. Talia was the leader because she knew how people worked. My useless brother Frank however...” Peter waved his hands by way of explanation, “not so much.”

Stiles looked at the older man.

“You're deflecting again.”

“Observant. Perhaps we better return that talent back to the books.”

Peter returned to the laptop and Stiles knew that was all he was getting. At least for now.

Returning to the book, the words seemed to swim in front of him. It was printed in some illegible gothic script. He spent half of his time trying to work out whether he was looking at an _f_ or an overgrown _s_. At least this one was in something recognisable as English. The pages on Peter's screen were in archaic Latin and this time Lydia wasn't on hand to help them out.

Damn. He'd been doing so well in not thinking about Lydia. Really well, in fact. A little too well. He used to think about her when he woke up and before he went to sleep but he hadn't thought of Lydia in days. Perhaps the songs were true. Time really did fix wounds. Or at least dulled the pain.

There was a strange letter in the text. What was that? An upper case B? No, it had a tail. It was a beta. What the hell was greek doing in this thing? He threw the book down on the table.

“This is useless. Even when I manage to make out what it says I don't know what it means. And it's using the wrong alphabet. _The alphas were bound unto the ordination of the Fentinels of Weib Rat._ What the hell is a Weeb rat?”

Peter pulled the book across the table.

“For start that is an s and that is an eszett. German double s. It's pronounced Vi-sse. _Sentinels of the Weiss Rat._ ”

“Ok. 1 – How do you even know that and 2 – how is that of any help to me?”

“The Sentinels of the White Order, or the Weeb rat as you so nicely called them, are... the supernatural police I suppose. They're more a European kind of thing though. There's a reason all the stories started in that part of the world. They've had to deal with dark under belly of the world for thousands of years.”

“The White Order...” Stiles pictured an amphitheatre, lined with a hundred figures all dressed in long white robes, their hoods pulled up to shadow their face. In the centre stood a solitary figure, hand outstretched towards his throat. Could she have been one of these mysterious sentinels and why was she here if it was?

He was just asking Peter when Scott threw himself into the chair beside Stiles.

“Why did I let you talk me into coming out here?” he whimpered. His bare torso was slick with sweat.

“I did not talk you into coming out here,” said Stiles. “You, I think, were the one to do the talking into it.”

Scott shook his hair, sending a spray of sweat everywhere. Nice.

“Well why didn't you talk me out of it?”

“Because I am not your own personal Jimney Cricket. You make your own decisions in life.”

Scott sunk down deeper until he was half way off the chair, every bone in his body melting away.

“I do not know what I did to deserve that, but I must have been like... a rapist or serial killer in another life to justify that punishment.”

“You'll thank me when there are a dozen alpha's on your back, trying to claw your face off,” Derek called out from across the room. He was wrapping his hands up tightly before crossing over to where a worn punching bag hung in the doorway. Stiles watched the tattoo on Derek's back shift and move as punch after punch was laid into unforgiving leather.

_Static filled his ears. Derek's face was inches from his own, the red eyes of an alpha looking at him. A flash across his vision of claws digging into his flesh._

As soon as it had come it was gone. That had been happening since his last run in with the woman in white too. Maybe he'd hit his head or something. That's why he couldn't remember that night in the woods. Most likely though was that he was simply going crazy.

“I hate Isaac so much right now,” said Scott. “I'm only here because he kept on going on at me. Now I actually make it here and he ditches me to go see a movie. With Danny, of all people.”

“Leave him alone. It's his first real date.” The words slipped out before Stiles even realised what they were. He tried to bite them back but they were already gone. Scott dropped his hands away from his face.

“Date? What do you mean date?”

“Oh crap.” Stiles rubbed his hand over his hair. “I wasn't supposed to say anything. Don't tell him I told you.”

“Date. Isaac is on a date. Right now. He is on a date.”

Stiles breathed out slowly.

“Yes.”

“On a date. With Danny. Danny who is a guy.”

“That was kind of implied.”

Scott looked at Stiles with that all too familiar blank look of his.

“I didn't know. About Isaac. I knew about Danny. Everyone knows about Danny.”

“Everyone knew about Isaac,” Peter said picking up the page he'd just printed out and scanning over the words. He had reading glasses on. Apprently being a werewolf might cause the added side effect of short sightedness. How wonderfully ironic. “Everyone except you apparently.”

Scott clammed up at that, looking sullen.

“He could have told me. I wouldn't of minded.”

Stiles lifted his eyes, meeting for a fraction of a second with Peter's. Isaac might of hidden his attraction from Scott but the rest of his pack had proved harder to fool.

“I'm sure he would have done.” Peter dropped his eyes back to the laptop, their moment of shared understanding passed. “In his own time.”

“Anyway,” said Stiles sitting up and stomping his feet against the ground. The sudden noise brought Scott back into the room. “I didn't just come to sit around and look at books.”

Scott grinned and led him over to the middle of the room. He started to show him the weak points on a werewolf. They were unbalanced in their wolf form, and a single kick in the right place would bring them down.

“When they shift completely the back of the knee is the best place. They should be on all fours. Their centre of gravity is too high when they stand up. Remember that.”

“Back of the knee. On all fours. Gravity centre. Got it.”

Stiles brought up his fists, bouncing backwards and forwards as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was ready. He could do this. He could win.

“Let's do this!”

Scott just smiled at him, his fangs slowly extending.

The first time Scott came at him, Stiles ended up against the opposite wall. The second time Scott held himself back a bit, and the other boy was just knocked flat on his arse. The third and fourth went much the same. By the sixth attempt even Derek had come over to laugh at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT - Changed Derek's mother's name to fit with cannon.


	9. Sentinel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cornered by Dr Deacon and Ms Morelle, Stiles finally learns a bit more about the Weiss Rat and what it all has to do with him. And his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The following contains copious amounts of plot and exposition. You have been warned.

 The bell above the animal shelter's door jangled to announce Stiles arrival. He shouted for Scott but got no reply, so jumped over the reception desk and walked into the examination room 

“Hello Stiles,” said Dr Deaton. He sounded exasperated, but most people did when they were addressing Stiles. “I sent Scott home early. He text you, but it didn't go through.”

Stiles screwed up his face. “What do you mean? How do you know?” 

He looked at the vet properly this time. He wasn't wearing his usual lab coat, but was instead dressed from head to toe in black, his ensemble now featuring a much greater ratio of leather than was usual. He looked like Derek. If Derek was bald and black.

“Hello Stiles.”

He jumped at the voice behind him.

“Ms Morelle?”

His guidance councillor was dressed in a similar way, though she was filling it out far more admirably. Especially her top, which was clinging to all the right places and was making it very important for Stiles not to look anywhere other than her eyes. Her trousers clung to her legs, small utility pouches strapped to her thighs, a knife sheath was bound by her ankle.

Wait. A knife sheath? That didn't seem right.

“Why do I get the feeling I'm being set up?”

The two adults laughed but it did little to ease Stiles tension. He always seemed to end up being the one in the room who knew the least. 

“I suppose we did a bit, didn't we,” Deaton said. He pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

Stiles sank backwards as if on rails, not taking his eyes off either of them unless it was to look at the other, eventually resting on Ms Morelle. His eyes unwillingly traced out the line of her curves again, but this time he was measuring her up. She was about the right height, the right build. It would explain why the woman in white's voice was so familiar.

“It's you, isn't it? You're the Weeb Rat.”

“What did you just call me?” she asked. 

Deaton laughed. “Do you mean the Weiss Rat?”

“Yeah, that White Council or whatever, is that you?” said Stiles.

“You know more than I thought you would,” said Ms Morelle. This seemed to make her very uneasy. Deacon meanwhile looked totally unsurprised. Stiles was the resident research monkey after all.

“Yeah. I read it in a book. White Council. White robe. Not exactly a brain teaser.” 

“No,” she said. “No, we're not on the council but we work for them. And it's White Order in English.”

Deaton crossed his arms and leaned back against the worktop.

“How do you know about the white robe?”

“The woman who keeps bugging me wears one. Big thing. Comes with a nice ethereal glow and freaky big hood so you can't see who's talking at you. The only thing is... it does all seem a little bit... well not exactly welcoming to people of your... persuasion.”

Ms Morelle shifted her weight, looking him in the eye as she crossed her arms. All that did was force her cleavage to become even more prominent.

“And what do you mean by that.”

“White robe. White hood. Calling themselves the White Council or Order or whatever. German. It's all a bit...”

“A bit what?”

“KKK?” He tried to make it sound like a question.

Ms Morelle pursed her lips as she slowly turned to Dr. Deaton.

“This guy. Are you kidding me. _This_ idiot!”

“So the Council woman talked to you?” said Deaton, changing the subject. “They must really be serious then.”

“Serious about what?” said Stiles. “Look, can you tell her to back the hell off. Because after she jumped me the other night I woke up three miles away with no idea how I got there. Now I keep having these freaky visions and these weird light beams and seeing who everyone in school wants to have sex with. Do you know how awkward that is for a teenage boy? Really!”

Rant over Stiles lowered the arms he didn't realise he was waving and sank back down onto his seat. Deaton and Ms Morelle exchanged furtive glances. They had no idea what he was talking about.

“Was that... was that not her. With the throat grabbing and the blacking out. I figured it... That was just... that's just me going crazy isn't it. Great. I knew this would happen one day. I'm actually going insane.”

Stiles had always thought he was mad. One day they'd diagnosed it as ADHD but his whole life he'd just been waiting for the doctors to realise that actually he was complete nut job. He half expected this whole werewolf to be some psychotic episode he'd made up in his mind.

“No, that was her,” said Deaton. He spoke slowly, as if to be sure that every word was in the right place before he said them. “I've just not heard of them doing that without permission before.”

Stiles was acutely aware that he was only getting half the conversation here. The thing was that for once he felt like he was entitled to the whole of it.

“Okay. So did you guys lure me here just to be all cryptic around me or do you have an actual point?”

The pair exchanged a look again. They nodded at each other and stepped forward. As they leaned in Stiles had the sudden feeling that he was back in a police questioning room, about to be asked why he'd done the latest in his long line of stupid things.

“You seem to know a lot more than we thought you did. What do you know?” the doctor said calmly. 

“Nothing really.”

“Nothing?”

“He called them the Weeb Rats, Alan,” said Ms Morelle. “He asked if the Council were white supremacists. I hardly think he's going to know much.”

Stiles straightened up defensively. He felt he was being mocked here. Deaton ignored her comment and carried on.

“Alright then. What do you know about the history of werewolves. Where they came from?”

This he knew. Perhaps he could claw back some of his dignity.

“A bit, from when I was researching on Scott. The earliest reports go back to ancient Greece; Herodotus, Ovid. Shapeshifters in general come up all over the world but wolves – that's a European thing, at least until they started settling over here. I'm guessing that the pilgrims didn't just bring over stories. At least a couple of them were werewolves. Makes sense, big new world, lots of lovely woods to run around in – ”

“If only you were this thorough with your French homework,” said Ms Morelle.

Dr Deacon was still smiling. “You've done your research we get it. What about how they were made.”

“Made? You mean like, where did the first baby werewolf come from? I figured some Greek lady got down with a wolf and 9 months later had a litter?”

Deaton laughed. “That's the theory in some cults. The truth is they were made. How and why is a mystery for the White Council to know, but they were the ones that did it, put the spirit of a wolf into a man. An army of them. The human population got jealous. Legend goes that one day a peasant was put down by a vicious wolf soldier and retaliated. The wolf bit the man, but was pulled off before he could kill him. The next day the man realised he was a wolf, like the soldiers but unlike them he was not bound to the laws of the council. He bit his whole family, so that they could be strong and live forever.”

Deaton trailed off. Stiles knew what came next. Peter had told him when he'd held up his wrist and offered him the bite. “Not every one survives the bite.”

“No. His only daughter got sick and died from it. His eldest son flew into a rage and killed his father before running away to the hills. The council couldn't remove the taint from those that had been bitten without killing them.

“The council realised that they had screwed up and needed someone to watch over the human race. A group of people who knew all about the things that go bump in the night so that they could keep everything under control. That's why they made the Sentinels.”

He spread out his arms, indicating himself and Ms Morelle.

“Sentinels? So that's what you guys are? Mystic, supernatural police.”

“Yes,” said Ms Morelle. “Our order goes back millennia. There are the odd... fraction that have split off and we mostly work autonomously but we report to the council.”

“Fractions. Do you mean the Argents?”

The vet laughed. “Sharp one he is. There might be hope for him yet.”

Ms Morelle continued. “The Argent family fractured away from the Council around five hundred years ago. They were freer to do what they wanted. Sentinels will only kill a werewolf if there is no alternative, no hope of retribution. The Argents have their code, but they will happily slaughter a whole pack even if they killed by accident in the blood lust of a full moon.”

Stiles was only to familiar with their code. He'd heard all about this famous, mythical code that they seemed to be ignoring left, right and centre. Ms Morell continued.

“Sentinels don't have any real supernatural powers of our own. Apart from being able to see the Web, which I think is what you were talking about earlier. Strings of light, connecting everyone. We can see them. That's a gift from the Council. Most of us have grown up around all of this. My aunt, my _black_ aunt, is on the Council. Alan's grandfather was. You grow up around that for long enough, you share blood with a Council member, it tends to bring on some kind of psychic ability.”

“Psychic?” Stiles said. Why was that so hard to believe? There were werewolves and lizard men and people rising from the grave so why not psychics.

Deaton spoke.

“Yes. Nothing particularly strong. It's more like a sixth sense. A feeling or intuition. In Morelle is an empath, she can sense emotions.”

“Which would come in useful when you're pretending to be a Guidance Councillor fishing for information,” Stiles said, connecting the dots.

“I _am_ a guidance councillor Stiles.”

“In my case it's an affinity with animals.” Deaton continued. “That's why I became a vet. When someone sits on the Council though, they get made a full on clairvoyant. They can see the future, as certainly as anyone can. They see the shape it takes, its form. What path will lead to good and which will lead to hell in a handcart.”

Stiles squirmed in the chair, his head bursting with questions.

“So these Council people. What are they? Like, gods? Are they the same people who first made the mega wolf army?”

The doctor looked amused, looking at the boy jumping up and down like an eager kid in class.

“No. They're human. Everything about them is secret, but they are human with normal, human, lifespans.”

His mind was darting all over the place. It suddenly took a turn down another avenue.

“If the council is supposed to be clairvoyant why didn't they look a little way down the road and see, 'oh, better not make that werewolf army. It's not going to work out so well when they start going all crazy on our asses'.”

“Just because you can see doesn't mean that you always look both ways before crossing the street,” said Ms Morelle.

Stiles sifted through all the questions in his mind, eventually settling on one that had been bothering him ever since that day in the graveyard. 

“What does this all have to do with me?”

Deaton turned and busied himself with some items he'd left out on a sideboard.

“I knew your mother, you know. I only arrived in town a few months before she passed, but I knew her.”

“Oh my god! Why does everyone seem to know my mother all of a sudden? What has that got to do with anything!”

It hit him as soon as he said it. She associated with the Hales, a family of werewolves. Everyone said how she always seemed to know exactly what was going on in people's heads. Hell he'd even found a bunch of books on European legends in her book case.

“Because Mom was one of you. She was a Sentinel.”

Deaton's hand stopped at his busy work for a moment.

“Yes and no. When I arrived she told that she'd had dealings with the council and she'd decided to go her own way. She asked me not to say anything, so I didn't. She was hiding from her family, not from the council. She'd been keeping an eye out, though. She helped arbitrate the last time the alpha pack was in town so I hear. Mostly, she was just your Mom.”

The doctor dropped his hands onto the worktop, balled into fists.

“I wanted to tell you. Since the day I first suspected that Scott had been turned. Before then. As soon as your mother died. You're the son of a Sentinel. This world was bound to find you at some point.”

The heart in Stiles' chest froze for an instant.

“You mean it was my fault that Scott got bitten. I was the only reason we were out there. Was it some kind of super, psychic, werewolf finding gene?”

“No,” Ms Morelle said softly. “It wasn't your fault. No matter what you did, someone would have been bitten that night.”

It did little to soothe Stiles sudden pang of guilt. He didn't realise he still carried that around. All of this, it was all his fault for dragging Scott out that night. His mind veered again. Rather than be angry at himself, get angry at someone else.

“Well why didn't you tell me?” He stood up, pacing up to where the vet was still hunched over. He'd known, all this time he'd known this huge thing about Stiles' Mom. When she was dying he could have helped. And Peter! He'd said there had been arbitrator but he'd never let on that it was his Mom. They'd just been talking about her and he hadn't said anything. What else was everyone keeping from him?

The doctor took a deep breath.

“Your mother made me promise not to. I went to visit her as soon as she knew that... as soon as she was certain she wasn't going to get a transplant in time. She said that I was to tell you nothing unless I had a direct order from the Council to do so. I tried to give you hints wherever I could. The Mountain Ash. I knew you'd be the only one who could do it.”

Stiles began to pace around the room, a sudden ball of nervous energy.

_It has to be Stiles._ That's what Deacon had said. He'd assumed it was because he was the one that was human, not because he had amazing psychic powers.

“There wasn't enough. I looked, there was still fifty feet to go and less than a hand full, but I made it work. I just imagined and it worked. That's why it went so far. Isn't it? There's something in my DNA, something special?”

The doctor nodded.

“That is... so freaking awesome!”

Ms Morelle sidled up beside him.

“When you were in my office, after the incident at the police station, you talked about drowning. You talked about it like you had actually been through it.”

The sudden topic change shocked Stiles. It cut through his excitement as he remembered that night.

“I must have read about it somewhere. In a book or something.”

“No Stiles,” she said. “You remembered it. It wasn't your memory, but you remembered it. Often memories get handed down in Sentinel families. We don't realise it, but they're there. They help guide us. Make us better. We can learn from the mistakes of those that have gone before. Stiles, you do what has too be done because you know that if you don't people will die. You would have killed Jackson if you had to. You routinely use your father to get police files even though you know it might, and has gotten him into trouble. You stole a police van to keep Jackson from hurting people.”

“I always thought that was your average teenage stupidity.”

“It is,” said Dr Deaton, “but your mother was the same, though she was more careful to hide it. She was very useful if ever we needed a confidential police report for one reason or another. Somewhere in your past one of your ancestors learned the hard way that baulking at a hard decision and not taking the chance would have consequences that far outstretch what will happen by doing them.”

“The regrets for what we do are nothing compared to the regrets of the things we don't,” quoted Stiles. The woman in white had said that at the graveyard. It was the second time he'd quoted her word for word.

“Exactly.”

All the things that the two people in front of him were saying were floating around him. Bit by bit they were coming together, forming into something he could get a hold of. He could see the pattern. He understood what it all meant.

“You said you couldn't say anything unless the Council said you could. So they must have ordered you to tell me.”

They both looked at him expectantly. They weren't going to say anything unless he asked first.

“Doc... do they want me to become a Sentinel.”

The vet and the teacher smiled.

“Yes Stiles. I rather think they do.”


	10. Boxing Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's training time again down at the Hale house. Again, Stiles is on book duty looking into the new spate of blood burglaries when Peter decides he's had enough of reading.

 Once more it was a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon and Stiles was stuck in the dilapidated remains of a half burned out building. It remained a mystery why the remaining Hales hadn't done up the building. At least given it a lick of paint. The Hales hadn't exactly been poor. With insurance and the family fortune it wouldn't be a burden to build it back up again, but neither Peter nor Derek seemed in any rush. 

Of course Stiles didn't know how many skeletons were hidden in the closets of this house. Literally. Since he'd first been here he'd discovered one body, okay half a body, and helped hide another so who know what other secrets lay hidden in the walls of the house. You wouldn't want half a dozen work men digging around when any minute they might turn up the corpse of dearly departed grandma.

Stiles turned his attention back to the laptop. Peter had given him free range as Stiles had quickly shown he was far more adept at tracking things down in the archaic texts, even though he didn't speak a word. He'd found a program that could scan in the pages, covert them to text files, crudely translate them and search for key words. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to flag up reference to 'alphas', 'kanimas' and 'how to kill everything nasty in the world'. 

Of course this wasn't what Stiles had set it to search for right now. It was looking for any reference to the Weiss Rat and their Sentinels.

He'd tried googling it, but all he'd been able to find was a thousand pages on Lord of the Rings, the women's suffrage movement and a pair of German artists. Whenever he thought he might have found a lead it turned out to be a role-playing group, insane cult or, in one case, some very very strange porn (which he may or may not have watched all the way through, ya know, in the name of research). Now he'd been handed a condensed resource on the supernatural and given free reign. So he was going to use it.

If he'd asked for help they'd probably have been willing to help him. Probably after yelling at him for wasting time when there was a hoard of alphas bearing down on them. Even though the alphas had still to actually _do_ anything. Perhaps the fact that Dr Deaton had kept it hidden from them made Stiles feel like he should keep it quiet. He'd known something was up before then and not said anything. Someone wanted to make him this powerful watchman. An occult warden. He was special. He should be screaming it from the rooftops. 'Look at me! Look at my awesomeness!' Yet he wasn't. Something was holding him back.

“Hows it going?” Isaac was beaming, flush from his work out with Derek. His chest was bare, covered only by the towel wrapped around his neck. He leaned over Stiles shoulder smelling pungently of man sweat.

_Static. The smell overpowered him, wrapped him up. A scream rent through the heat, turned fire to ice._

“Hey, you alright there?” Isaac's hand was on his shoulder. Stiles was back in the room. “Your heart rate just sky rocketed.”

“I will be if you get your stinking armpit out of my face.”

Isaac took a step back, bending to sniff himself. His face contorted in disgust. Isaac pulled over a chair and looked at the screen. Progress bars flew about the screen, pages flashing up, a constant stream of unintelligible words being transcribed scrolled down the side while a second torrent of nonsensical English came up below it. “Anything?”

“Not yet,” Stiles lied. At the bottom of the screen a small counter informed him of any occurrences of people in white robes. There were already dozens. “You read it all in first. Then you search.”

Isaac nodded before leaning in. He looked around like a kid passing notes in class.

“Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for setting me up with Danny.”

Stiles had nearly forgotten about that. He'd noticed the two of them hanging round more in school, sitting together at lunch and so on but there didn't seem to be any signs of anything more. He'd just assumed they'd bonded over the whole gay thing and that was it.

“Don't worry about it. Going well?”

Isaac just nodded like a bobble head on speed. He beamed wider if that was possible.

“Yeah. Really well. Like, really, really well.”

Stiles leaned back, throwing his hands up over his head.

“Great. Why do I always seem to be helping everyone else get laid while I seem to be the only one whose standards are low enough to have anything to do with me.”

Isaac laughed. “That's not true. Erica had a massive crush on you. Even when she became all sexified.”

Erica had told him as much herself. He'd been too wrapped up in Lydia to notice. For years he'd wondered why she was going after a total douche bag who didn't appreciate her when he was totally besotted with her. All the time Erica had been thinking the same about him.

“I know. I messed up there.”

“Tell you what. When we get her back, I'll help set the two of you up. You know, if you want to.”

“If we get her back.” Derek stood in the doorway. Also shirtless. “Stop pimping out my pack, Layhe. Get back to training.”

Isaac lowered his head in submission and slunk back out. All the time Derek just stared at Stiles, fixing him with the full weight of his glare.

“Don't worry,” he said unnerved. “I'm not going to try and sleep with Erica.” Derek turned away. “Unless she wants to,” he added quietly. 

Derek's head whipped back but Stiles refused to look up, instead concentrating solely on the laptop. He heard Derek's grunt of annoyance and his feet running away after his betas.

“What got him in such a hissy fit?” Peter emerged round from the corridor where Derek had just disappeared. Stiles stayed quiet, pleased with his small victory over Derek. Peter took up the chair Isaac had been using, a mug of hot coffee in his hand.

The man looked utterly at ease. He always did. No matter whether Derek was screaming at the others or they were stressing over the mythical threat of the alpha pack Peter was as calm and collected as ever. Maybe it was hard to get stressed out when you'd already died once. He took a long drink from his coffee and picked up the day's paper.

_Beacon County: Vampire Central?_

Stiles crooked his head to read on over Peter's shoulder.

_Beacon County blood bank_ _was_ _vandalised_ _and robbed_ _on Thursday night_ _, with_ _thieves_ _making off with over twenty gallons of blood. This marks the second such robbery in a month. Though police suspect that the blood was stolen for sale on the black market, locals have natural_ _ly_ _come to suspect Dracula and his cohorts. Could the Cullen's have moved into Northern California? Story continues on page 9._

“Vampires, honestly. People can be so stupid sometimes,” Peter said reading the article.

“Because vampires are so far fetched, Mr Werewolf.”

“That's totally different. Besides, vampires are totally useless. No garlic. No daylight. No consecrated ground. They can't even cross running water if you're talking proper vampires. Do you have any idea what problems the modern sewer system would cause a real vampire? Just as well they don't exist.”

Stiles could sense a sore spot. With Twilight, True Blood and the Vampire Diaries on every other channel, he could understand why the werewolf community was feeling a little under appreciated.

“Alpha or Gerard?” asked Stiles.

“Could be Gerard. The Alphas wouldn't make this much of a spectacle. Probably just goth kids who've read too much Anne Rice. Oh look. Sports.”

Stiles shook his head. When a grandfather-turned-hell demon tearing people apart became less interesting than the new season line up, you knew your life had gotten derailed somewhere.

There was a cry of pain from the other room, followed by Derek shouting at Isaac for wasting his time.

“Why aren't you in there with them?” Stiles asked. “I thought you were supposed to be weak after rising from the dead. Shouldn't you be buffing up as well?”

Taking a long drink Peter picked up that days paper from the table.

“I am plenty buff thank you, and now I'm back in a pack I'm much stronger. Me and Derek train. We just have to wait for the kids to go home. There's a reason the stairs don't have banisters any more.”

“I wasn't aware that beating the crap out of each other counted as training.”

Peter chuckled and looked across at Stiles, considering something. He clicked his tongue, reaching his decision.

“Get up,” he said and walked into the centre of the room.

“What?”

“You said that the search thing will take a while to do its mojo. Get up. I'm going to show you how to fight.”

“But Derek said...”

“Screw Derek. You're in this now. You are determined to be in this. You might as well know how to defend yourself or else you're going to get yourself killed. So. Do you want me to show you how you hope to stand a chance against a werewolf or do you want to get your throat ripped out?”

Stiles leaped out of his chair and crossed over to stand opposite the older man. He put his dukes up and bounced from foot to foot. Peter just stared at him.

“What are you doing, boy.”

“Getting ready to defend myself.”

Stiles threw out a few test punches, far out of range from Peter so there was no risk of hitting him. He kept in the balls of his feet darting backwards and forwards, trying to circle him. With a roll of his eyes Peter moved like a whip and caught Stiles arm as he punched forward. Agony shot through him as the limb twisted and he collapsed to the floor when Peter released him again.

“Even without shifting a werewolf is going to be faster, stronger and, well, just better than you at pretty much everything.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“My pleasure.” 

Peter extended a hand to help him up but Stiles opted to ignore it and get up by himself.

“What's wrong Stiles. Don't trust me?”

“No. Of course I don't. I don't like you much either.”

Especially not after he'd nearly wrenched Stiles arm out of its socket. Peter tilted his head to one side as he shrugged.

“You should get yourself a weapon,” he said stepping out, around Stiles. “Something you can carry on you at all times, deadly to a were but that most people will ignore. A penknife coated in wolf's bane. Cover your keys in the stuff. Get a epi-pen of it. Anything that will get it into their system. Keep it with you at all times.”

“Okay. But...”

Stiles never finished. Peter had wrapped his arm around Stiles' neck and was squeezing tightly.

“Lesson 1. Never let them get behind you.”

The lessons came one after the other. Don't leave your flank open. Don't take your eyes of them. Don't let them get in your head. Don't let them circle you. Don't let them call for help. There seemed to be a lot of don'ts and a lot of Peter hitting him in the stomach.

After a particularly hefty blow to his side Stiles was laid out flat on the floor in the foetal position. Peter's shadow loomed over him, hand extended. Once more he ignored it. Every muscle hurt as he shifted onto his arms to get up. Explaining these bruises to Dad would be fun.

“Am I just your punching bag or are you actually going to teach me anything.”

“Pain is an excellent motivator.” Peter delivered another swiping blow to his shoulder. If his claws had been out Stiles left side would have been ruined. Peter stepped back for another blow.

The world seemed to shift. He could see the line his fist would take, a shimmering patch of air where the older man would soon occupy. With a twist of his body Stiles moved just in time. The blow still hit, but barely.

“Good! See, you move out the way and it doesn't hurt as much.”

It still hurt.

Peter went in for another slashing motion. Again the air changed about Stiles. He could tell every trajectory of Peter's motion before he'd even pulled back his arm. This time Peter missed completely. Stiles couldn't help himself from laughing. He was actually managing to dodge a werewolf! The fact that it was Peter only made things even more fun. The werewolf seemed a little put out by his student's sudden progress.

“Again,” Stiles said, “and actually try this time.”

Peter leapt forward at him with the full force of his rage. His eyes were glowing red but all Stiles cared about was the silver highlights to the world. He saw how it was all connected: Peter's muscles, his movements. Stiles knew if he dropped down, moved like this, struck out at that part of his back...

Peter howled in pain. An actual, full on wolf howl. Stiles couldn't help but laugh.

“That was awesome. Again! Come at me again!”

“Are you kidding me?” Peter said looking up from his position on the floor. “I think you just ruptured by spleen. How did you do that?”

“What's going on!” Derek was in the doorway. His claws were drawn, his face twisted into his wolfish form. Scott and Isaac flanked him, their stances echoing his.

“I just beat the crap out of Peter,” Stiles announced with a little too much glee. “It was amazing! I am a tail kicking god!”

“What?”

“It's true,” Peter said as he struggled up. “He got me in a nerve cluster or something. Lucky shot.”

Derek shook his face and his teeth and claws receded. It still creeped Stiles out to watch as the muscles and bones changed shape under another person's skin. Stiles could feel Derek's eyes trying to take him in.

“Isaac. Punch him in the face.”

Stiles didn't even have time to register. Isaac was too bound to Derek to even question the order and bounded forward, ready to slash at Stiles face.

There was no shimmering air this time. No strands of light. He just knew where his body needed to be. His foot slid backwards, body bent over. Isaac was over committed and flew past Stiles. As he passed, Stiles brought up his arm catching Isaac in just the right place to flip the young wolf and carry him away, out of range.

“Woah!” Scott said from the door way. “Dude, you're like a ninja!”

Derek frowned at him. It was hard to tell if he was impressed or worried.

“Scott. Fight him.”

“What? No!” Scott said.

“I'm your pack leader and...”

Scott stepped back and threw his hands up in the air.

“Hey. I haven't said I'm actually, officially joining your pack yet, have I? Forcing me to beat up my best friend is not a good way to encourage me to help you out.”

Derek turned on Scott to face him down, but held himself back. The strain of it showed in the line of his exposed muscle along his neck.

“Fine,” he spat out. “I'll do it then.”

Stiles felt a cold shock of fear. Derek could kill him. Quite easily and probably quite happily. What if this Sentinel mojo dropped out just when Derek was flying in to rip his throat out?

“Wait... I'm not sure if...”

Derek was coming at him. He would try to shoulder barge Stiles to the floor, pin him to the floor and then punch him in the jaw. As he came Stiles darted to one side, his motion uncharacteristically fluid, but leaving a leg trailing behind. Derek tripped on it and staggered, quickly regrouping to come at him again. This time Stiles dropped down low and let Derek roll over the top of him, grabbing the werewolf as he passed. His skin was slippery with sweat, and Stiles' hand slid along his arm, hooking around in his elbow. There was a flurry of limbs and suddenly Derek was on the floor, hands pinned above his head, unable to move as Stiles sat straddled on his chest.

_Buzzing filled his ears. The smell of sweat burned his nose. The air clung to his skin, hot and wet as the sound of rain echoed through it. The taste of blood filled his tongue._

His vision snapped back to look at Derek's furious face below him. It took a moment to realise that the hotness on his face was Derek's breath. He was close enough to make out the patterns that traced across his red tinged irises. He could almost taste the smell of his sweat.

Stiles let go of Derek's hands as if electrified. Derek pushed him off roughly, sending him into a sprawl on the floor.

“How. Did. You. Do. That.” 

Stiles chest seemed to be bound in tight bandages. His chest refused to fill fully as he sucked down air.

“I don't know,” he said.

But he knew he needed to find out.


	11. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The woman in white has a mission for Stiles.

 Sweaty residue still clung to Stiles as he pulled into his driveway. Derek had made him try to throw him again, but what ever magic power had descended upon Stiles had gone with that first throw. He was trying to think of ways to explain the bruises. Lacrosse seemed as good an excuse as any. It helped to have a violent sport to blame for all the scratches and bruises you got from being on the cusp of the supernatural world. There were times he considered taking the bite just so they'd heal before his Dad saw.

He had a vivid image Derek sinking his jaws into his jugular. The image wasn't helped by the fact that he still smelled of the guy's sweat. Oh my god. He was coming home stinking of another man! How did he get himself into these situations?

Spending a moment to collect himself, he ran his hands down his face, the palms dragging at his skin. He let out a breath and went to open the door.

A white hood filled the window. Screaming, he skid out of his seat, half falling into the passenger footwell an effort to get away before realising that it wasn't a ghost or ghoul stood outside his car. It was the woman in white. She lifted a finger and drew a slow circle in the air. The universal symbol for 'wind the window down'.

“Evening Little Red,” she said. Seriously, he needed to burn this hoody or something. 

“Next time do you think you could, I don't know, knock or call or do something so I don't end up having a freaking panic attack.”

“Sorry.” She wasn't. The woman leaned forward, resting her arms on the sill of his window. “I hear my little helpers have had words with you at last.”

Stiles wondered how Dr Deaton and Miss Morelle would react to being called 'little helpers'.

“Yeah. They told me about the Sentinels, you know, that my Mom was one. They thought that you might want me to become one, to work for the Council. Is that it? Is that was this is all about?”

The voice from the hood sounded amused. “Is that was they said? Would you want to? If the opportunity was offered?”

“Hell yeah!” Stiles said. He pretty much was doing the job already. At least this way he'd have backup and resources and maybe even access to weapons. Visions of himself decked out like Rambo jumped into his brain.

The woman in white leaned back, still holding onto the door.

“They must have made a good pitch. In that case perhaps you should see a little more of what is required by the council.”

As she stepped away from the door, Stiles opened it to follow after.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He turned when he heard the other door opening.

“I thought we were going somewhere.”

“We are. But it's on the other side of town. Despite my uncanny ability to suddenly show up right in your face I am not actually capable of flying. I need to you drive.”

She slid into the seat and buckled up. The action seemed odd. Mundane. She was a character plucked out of the pages of a fantasy novel. Why did she need her seat belt?

“Aren't you supposed to see the future. There something I should know?”

“No. It's the law. Your Dad's a cop, you should know that.”

He pulled out and followed the directions she gave him. It was only when the she asked him to pull up at the side of the street that he realised where they were.

“Isn't that the Argent's house?”

“Yes. That's who we are here to see.”

She got out of the car and walked up the front door. By the time Stiles had run over she already had the door open. He kept his voice down, figuring that they were supposed to be being stealthy. Judging from the cars in the driveway both Allison and her Dad were home.

“How did you get the door unlocked? Magic? Was it magic? Because that would be so cool. Or like, special super speedy lock picking.”

“No,” she said. “The door was open.”

Feeling a little crestfallen Stiles followed her in, walking down the corridor and into the living room. She moved silently, the white coat bellowing around her like silk through water. Pointing to a corner of the room she told him to stand by the fireplace, while she remained on the other side of the room.

“So what am I supposed to do?” he said. He spread his arms out for emphasis, knocking into a vase on the mantle piece. It smashed to pieces on the floor.

He hit the floor, trying to brush up the broken shards of pottery, hide the evidence of his wrong doing. Kicking the large shards under the couch it only then occurred to him that it had also made a very loud noise.

“Oh my god. Stiles!”

He spun round to the doorway where Allison stood. The crossbow in her hands was trained on his chest.

“What are you doing here? I nearly shot you.”

“Uh... well you see... I was outside, minding my own business when I see this... this... raccoon. And I saw it coming in through the... the window and I thought to myself 'Allison doesn't want to have to deal with a racoon messing up her house. It could have rabies'. So I... I came in after it and then I shooed it out. It got really mad though. Was running. All over the place. I'd get this whole room cleaned if I were you.”

Allison stared at him, then shook her head. There was a level of ridiculousness that you just couldn't compete against. She lowered the bow and crossed to where he was standing.

“You couldn't have broken something else could you? Or could Scott not have broken it himself?”

“Scott?”

“He's why your here right. Why else would you be in my living room this late at night?”

He was about to say he didn't know why he was in her living room this late at night when her father swung into the door way with a handgun raised at Stiles' head. Would people stop trying to kill him today. Mr Argent's eyes went wide at the sight of Stiles standing there. Of all the people in world you expected to find breaking and entering, Stiles thought he probably wind up fairly far down the list. No. He probably ranked pretty high amongst those you'd expect to bungle the job and get found. Lower down in the 'potential threat to home security' ratings though.

“Stilinski.”

He walked into the room. As he passed by her, the woman in white, unnoticed by both Argents, stepped silently into place.

“What are you doing here Stiles? I thought Allison made it clear she wants nothing to do with Scott. He can do his own dirty work.”

“He's not here for Scott. He is here with me.”

Allison and her father jumped at the sudden appearance of the woman in white. The effect had been lost somewhat on Stiles. Seeing how someone had mystically appeared in the room rather took away from the effect.

“What the...” Allison asked, raising her crossbow again. Her father put his hand over it, lowering the barrel.

“Leave this to me. I've been expecting a visit from the Council.”

Mr Argent was trying to sound calm and collected but he was scared. More than that, he was terrified. Whoever the council were the Argent family feared them. Seeing as Stiles was far more scared of the Argents than the pack of alphas, this revelation was seriously making him question his allegiances. 

“The Council, what Council?” asked Allison. 

“You broke the code,” said the woman in white.

“No,” Mr Argent said. He didn't sound insulted. He sounded worried. “Kate broke the code. Gerard broke the code.”

“And you followed him when he did,” said the woman. “Even though you knew what would happen, you followed him.”

“No. No. I didn't. I didn't kill any of them. Not one. Neither did Allison.”

All his emphasis was on that last phrase. He was afraid for Allison. She looked between the two of them, sensing it too.

“Broke the code? Didn't kill anyone? What's going on Dad, who is this woman. Stiles?”

Stiles shrugged at her. “I just drove.”

“You may not have broken the code in act,” said the woman, “but you would have done. You let Katherine Argent break it. You stood by as Gerard Argent broke it. You stand by as he breaks it still.”

“Stop having a go at my Dad! We're trying.” Allison stepped forward but her Dad shouted her name and held her back.

“Not now Allison. Please. I'll explain later. Just let me sort this out.”

She sensed his panic and withdrew. He holstered his gun and spread his arms in supplication. His words were rushed and desperate.

“We are trying. I swear we are trying. He's made a lair somewhere. We search every night. We'll get him. I will put the bullet in his brain myself. I will make this right. We just... we don't even know what he is. The mountain ash... he's different from other kanimas, we don't know how to track him. He doesn't seem to have a master. We're working it out but there aren't as many of us as there were even a few months ago. It will take time...”

“He is killing innocent people.”

Her calmness silenced the room. Mr Argent buried his face in his hands, head hung in shame.

“You have until midnight of the next full moon,” she said.

“And then?” said Allison.

The hood turned to face her, staring her down for just a few seconds too long.

“And then the council will take from the Argent family the gift it once gave.”

Mr Argent breathed a sigh of relief.

“Is that all? You won't... take it out on us all?”

The hood swooped back to him.

“That is all, Mr Argent, but I warn you the gifts from the Council to the Argents was more than you can imagine. Your family seems to have forgotten that the code was not of their own making. It is not some arbitrary set of rules your great, great, great Granddaddy came up with. They were placed upon you. The council are the arbitrators of all things. We protect all things. Humans _and_ werewolves. Do not forget that again. Good evening.”

The woman in white bowed her head slightly and then strode out the room. As soon as she was gone Allison ran to her Dad and the two held on to each other tightly. Stiles coughed. The pair jumped. They'd forgotten Stiles was there. Mind you Stiles had nearly forgotten he was there. He gave them a wave.

“Well it was nice to see you again Allison. We haven't really talked much since the whole Scott thing...” Allison just looked at him with shock. “So, I'll just go then.”

He backed away towards the door and waved goodbye again, before fleeing out the room. He stepped out into the night but the woman in white was no where to be seen. Mysterious disappearances still seemed very much on the table.

Above him the half moon waxed on. Whatever fate awaited the Argents it would arrive in in less than a week.

 


	12. Take What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its training time for the Lacrosse team. Stiles new abilities make him the new wunderkid on the pitch. Unfortunately it appears Coach Finstock wasn't the only one watching his sudden progress with interest.

 The team lined up, pumped from their warm up laps. Coach Finnstock squared up against them.

“Today we have half the team off with the flu, or gonorrhoea or whatever disease it is that's spreading through you Petri dishes this week so we're going to mix things up a bit today.”

“God I hope it's not gonorrhoea,” Isaac muttered. Danny was off today Stiles noted.

“McCall first home. Lahey second home. Greenburg, Belinski same on the opposition. Prove to me the pair of you aren't complete failures. The rest of you, go wherever. I don't care.”

Stiles punched the air in victory. Second home. He might actually get to score again. Perhaps his victories hadn't been completely ignored. He was going to get pummelled by half his team mates, but at least it would give an explanation for the bruises that still covered his body. It had been a few days since Derek had beaten him, but they were still showing.

He went to stand in position. He got ready to go, keeping his eye on the ball as Coach blew the whistle and it flew around the pitch. Right up until the point it was launched towards him and smashed him straight in the grill.

It didn't really hurt, the helmet did a good job of stopping the blow, but the shock still made him stagger.

“Good god Belinski! You do know it doesn't count if you score a goal with your face. Wait... does it?”

The ball flicked back to the starting line and he got ready to go again. This time though he shut his eyes and concentrated.

Pain is an excellent motivator.

When he opened his eyes again he didn't look for where the ball was. He looked for where it would be. He rolled his shoulders and hunkered down. He could see the path of the ball, knew where he needed to be. All he needed to do was stretch out and...

He looked at the ball in the net with shock. He'd caught it. He never catches it.

“Congratulations. You managed to achieve one small piece of success in your otherwise useless life now are you going to try and score a damn goal!”

From then on every ball seemed to fall into his net. He needed to only look at the goalie and know exactly where he needed to shoot, how his muscles had to move to create that perfect line. Every one went in. Even the ones where the goalie was perfectly positioned, they all flew past his defences and into the goal.

On the other side of the field he could tell Isaac and Scott were getting annoyed. They looked at each other and nodded before calling a huddle. They were going to get him. When they looked back, Stiles could see their yellow irises glowing. They retook their positions, only now Scott and Isaac were in defence. Coach didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't care. When the ball came down the field towards Stiles both of them were positioned to check him. As the ball flew towards him, the pair charged, ready to intercept the ball.

Stiles was ready. Taking a step back he caught the ball, swinging his stick down and around to avoid the werewolves as they came at him. He sidestepped around Isaac, twisting so that he rolled off Scott, sending him into a collision with his partner in crime. In the same motion he loosed the ball and sent it straight into the back of the net. 

Suck on that wolf boys.

“No need to start showing off Stilinski. We get it. Maybe that last match wasn't a fluke after all. Time for cool down then hit the showers.”

Isaac and Scott ran over to Stiles, wrenching their helmets off.

“How did you do that?”

“Hey, I guess all that time on the bench finally paid off.”

“Seriously Stiles,” Scott said as they began their slow jog around the pitch. “How did you do that? And the other day, with Derek. You can't tell me that was luck as well.”

“Derek beat the crap out of me!”

“Only after you gave him the smack down. I've never pinned him like that. Neither has Isaac, not even when we tried together. And some of those moves you did just now I didn't even think were physically possible.”

A ball smacked Scott in the ass.

“You can girl talk later,” Coach shouted at them. “Get running.”

Stiles turned his attention back to where he was going. His eyes skirted around the edge of the pitch. With a complete lack of surprise he noticed Derek, lurking on the outskirts by the bleachers, hidden from view.

Three laps later the team headed towards the locker room. Every step Stiles took someone would come and stop him, ask him how he did that or congratulate him. By the time he eventually made it to the locker room he was cornered by the team mates who had already showered and were getting to go. By the time he'd managed to actually take a shower everyone had left except Scott and Isaac who had hung back to wait for him.

They stood baring the way to his locker.

“Okay, spill. You know something. I know you do.”

“So you're holding my clothes hostage?”

“Yes,” said Isaac. “Where did you learn to do that?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. It was time. They should know. But where to start? Start with what they already knew.

“Okay. So I was talking with Peter the other day. Did he tell you anything about...”

“There you girls are.” Coach Finnstock came up behind them. “Hell of a show today Stilinski. I don't know what the three of you are on, and quite frankly I don't care. You just keep on taking it and if you get caught I didn't just say that. Congratulations Stilinski, you just made first line. Now I have a date with a red hot woman, who I am fairly sure wants to rock my world and I would rather let you three burn down the school than be late. Good night.”

“First line?” Stiles said still in shock. “I made first line? For real!”

But the coach had already gone.

“Yes!” Stiles held his arms up in the air, looking for a high five. Two blank faces greeted him. Isaac was shaking his head. “Woo! Why are you guys not freaking out here. This is epic!”

“But how Stiles?” asked Scott. “I'm only saying this because I love you, man, but... you suck most of the time. Like seriously, seriously suck.”

Stiles arms sunk back down.

“Come on. Can you guys just let me have this one?”

“I'm happy for you,” Isaac said though his voice wasn't exactly convincing. “It's just... no human moves like that.”

“Exactly my thought.”

All three of them turned to Derek standing in the aisle.

“Scott. Isaac. Out.”

“But...”

“OUT!”

Isaac hung his head and cowered before grabbing his bag and fleeing the room. Scott looked to Stiles first, who nodded his permission to go.

Then it was just him and Derek.

He should have been more scared. Crazy dodge moves or not, Derek was more than capable of ripping his head off. But Stiles found himself totally calm. Then again, he was never really scared when he should be. Why would he be? He was still riding the adrenalin high from practice, he'd just been made first line. It wasn't like he was alone in a locker room with someone he knew had killed before while he was dressed in nothing but a towel. Oh no wait. That was exactly what it was like. At least Derek would be able to see the bruises he'd left all over his body, now yellowing slightly as they healed.

“I saw you out there. Lurking again. What does the big bad wolf want now?”

Derek slammed him against the locker, one hand splayed against his bare chest. Stiles tried not to blink, but kept staring straight into his eyes. He was going to face him down this time. No being intimidated. He was going to win this time.

Derek bared his teeth as he spoke.

“Who bit you?”

“What?”

“You know what. Who did you let bite you?”

“I don't know...”

“It was Peter wasn't it.”

Stiles' eyes went wide as it fell into place.

“Oh my god.” He pushed Derek away. “That's what you think?”

“You're fast. Agile. You're not even trying to hide it.”

“So I must have taken the bite? From Peter.”

“Well it wasn't from me.”

Stiles bit down on his lip to try and curb the growing anger. He wanted to walk away but Derek was still pinning him to the lockers.

“Peter didn't bite me. Nobody bit me. I don't _want_ anyone to bite me. Even if I did it certainly wouldn't be Peter I turned to. The guy is a psychopath.”

“Who then? Who would you ask? Me?” asked Derek. Stiles could smell his rage. The air was still damp from the showers. It made it feel heavy, like the atmosphere was pressing down in on them.

“Ask you? I'm surprised you'd even wait for me to ask.” Stiles leaned forward. Face to face, inches away he held Derek eyes as if their stare was made from iron, adrenalin flooding him with a courage that wasn't his. “Why don't you just go ahead and bite me? That's what you want to do isn't it? Sink your teeth into my neck. Bring me into your little pack. I'm not your cub. I'm not your's to growl and roar at until I cower in submission.”

“Maybe I do want to bite you. Maybe that is exactly what I want to do.”

“Do it then. Screw what anyone else wants. Just go ahead and take what you want.”

Neither could tell who kissed who. Derek's tongue was in Stiles' mouth, lips against his. Hands grasped at flesh. Derek stepped in slamming the two of them hard up against the locker. Stiles felt teeth, human teeth, clamp down on his lip. His mouth was flooded with the taste of his own blood. It only made his passion surge. He moaned and kissed Derek back with even more ferocity, running his hands through the other man's hair and forcing the two of their faces together even closer.

The locker dug into Stiles back, reminding him how naked he was. This was very unfair. Grabbing at leather Stiles tore the other man out of his jacket, exposing that skin tight tanktop that curved over ever hard edges of Derek's abs. He wanted to tear it apart, expose that body, run his tongue over every contour but the other man refused to let his lips go.

Mouth still ravaging Derek's he grabbed at the skin in the small of Derek's back, hands forced up under his shirt. Derek detached his lips, trailing them neck down the tendons of his Stiles' neck as they went tense with need. Blunt teeth grazed against his neck. Stiles ran his fingers through Derek's hair, twisting his head to lick at the curve of Derek's ear.

Derek backed away from the lockers, dragging Stiles with him by the hips. The towel around Stiles' waist fell away, worked loose by the furious motion of their groins. The sharp points of Derek's claws dug into his ass as he picked Stiles up and flung him down on the bench. The werewolf was barely holding onto his control.

Stiles was stark naked, harder than he'd ever been in his life, with Derek Hale straddling him while he undid his flies, exposing his equally hard cock.

Fuck yes. 

Derek flung himself down over Stiles, rubbing them against each other. Stiles grabbed into his shoulders. Bringing his legs up he wrapped them around Derek's waist, feet bouncing on Derek's ass as the two moved together.

Stiles reached down between them took both their cocks in his hand. Derek skin was silky and smooth. It surprised him. He'd been expecting something raw and violent, like the man who owned it. The contact made Derek roll his head in ecstasy, pushing harder into it. Their lips were together again. Stiles could feel the animalistic rumble of Derek's voice against his tongue. 

The motion of Derek's hips began to loose their rhythm, replaced by the frantic urgency of a nearing climax. Stiles could feel the pulsing of blood in his hand, unable to tell if it was his own orgasm or Derek's. He didn't care. Above him Derek threw his head back and bared his teeth. From the depths of his throat came a howl more primal than Stiles had ever heard. It was sex and violence, pure animal.

For a second the world went white as Stiles burst forward into the first orgasm of his life at another's hand. His lips went numb. He thought his head would implode. He couldn't even scream, his lungs constricted as his whole body devoted itself to the explosion of pleasure between his legs.

It passed and he slowly became aware that the panting he heard wasn't his own. His hand was covered, still pumping the twin dicks in his fist, come slicking his fingers. 

For the first time since they'd kissed, Derek lowered his eyes and met Stiles'. Derek's pupils contracted as the realisation of what he'd done set in. Dropping Stiles, he backed away, taking in all of the younger man, the boy, laid out before him: naked, splayed on a bench and splattered with semen.

He looked ready to vomit. Shoving himself back into his trousers Derek fled leaving Stiles alone to wonder what the hell had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the fic earns its Explict rating. Oh yeah.


	13. Cry On My Shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He might have made first line but Stiles can't hide his real troubles from his Dad.

 It had taken him ten minutes in the shower to get the smell of Derek off of him. The strange thing was he hadn't really wanted to. He'd have been happy to have gone home how he was and spend the night languishing in the smell of sex. But he stank of it. Anyone would catch one wiff and know exactly where he had been and what he had been doing. As the warm water washed away the dried fluid from his body it seemed to clean away the shock as well.

He'd kissed Derek. Derek had kissed him.

Never, not once had he imagined that. In all the times he jerked himself off, whether he was imagining girl or guy, he had never thought of Derek. His hard shoulders. The way his waist tapered so perfectly. He was practically a freaking Abercrombie & Fitch model! He hadn't thought about Derek that way, but now that it had happened he couldn't understand _why_ he hadn't.

Now he stood at his own porch, leaning up against the front door, afraid to go in. His Dad would be able to tell. Something would give him away. Even if he didn't smell like Derek any more, he'd say something or walk a certain way and his Dad would know.

“Hey Dad,” he called as he walked through the door. _Try to sound yourself_ , he said to himself. _Nothing is wrong. Nothing is any different from usual._

“Hey!” His Dad got up from the table, looking at his watch. “You're late.”

“Uh... yeah. The coach made me train late. I'm kinda of first line now.”

“What? You made the team?”

“Yeah. Turns out I am awesome.”

“Alright.”

His Dad took him in a big hug and they squeezed on to each other. It had been so long since he'd been like this with his Dad. Stiles held on a little bit to long, a little bit too tight.

And there was the thing that gave him away.

His Dad pulled back out of the hug, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Something's up. Isn't it?”

Stiles nodded sadly. There was no use denying it even if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't. He wanted his Dad to tell him what to do. That's what Dad's were for. The two of them sat down at the table. What to say? There's a pack of ravenous killers who want to kill my best friend. That nice principal whose been missing has actually turned into murderous beast. The mythical cult of supernatural police that Mum used to be a member of want me to join them. Oh, and I might have just not-quite had sex with Derek Hale, that guy you arrested for the murder you still haven't solved.

“It's just... life you know. Being a teenager is really crappy.”

His Dad laughed.

“Yeah. That it is.”

“Dad. How did you know Mom was the one?”

His Dad leaned back in his chair.

“How did I know? You just know, you know. Actually no. I remember what it was. The day I realised. Do you remember how your Mom used to do that really cheesy thing of singing along to Madonna or whatever eighties crap was on the radio while she was doing the dishes.”

That made Stiles laugh out loud as he recalled the image to his mind.

“Yeah. She had all those dance moves she'd always do.”

“Right and doing the weird male voice bit at the end of _Material Girl_. It was the first time I saw her do that. She'd just cooked me dinner and insisted on doing the dishes straight away while I sat and watched the game or whatever it was. I heard her singing from the couch and I walked over to see her. She was just in a world of her own. Didn't care that I was there. It was _Vogue_ playing and she was doing the whole shebang. Poses, singing, dance moves, all while still managing to do the dishes. And I knew that if I could look at this woman, doing that, and still love her then she must be the one I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. I started saving for the ring with my next pay check.”

Stiles was smiling but there were tears in his eyes. He saw it like it was actually happening. Throughout his childhood he'd seen his Mom doing just that, his Dad coming up behind her to kiss her on the neck. She'd rub the bubbles into his hair and on the end of his nose. There were days when he walked into the kitchen, expecting to see his Mom stood there, then remembered she was gone.

“God I miss her.”

“Me too son, me too. But this isn't about her. Is it?”

Stiles shook his head. He tried to imagine Derek stood at the sink, singing along to the radio. He couldn't even picture him doing the dishes. Surely Derek just stared at them until they cleaned themselves out of fear.

“Is it Lydia?”

Stiles eyes went wide as he looked up. Lydia? Holy crap, Lydia! When had he last thought about her? God knows. With one thing and another he'd not even left himself any time to obsess about Lydia. Jesus, how did his life get so complicated.

“I know her leaving hit you pretty hard.”

Was that what his Dad thought? That this was all about Lydia. It was easier than the truth at any rate.

“It's not just that. After... after the police station, with Matt everything has been so messed up. Lydia. Scott. Alison. Everyone.” Stiles could feel the tears breaching his eyes. “And then I hardly see you any more. When I do we pretend that everything is just fine, but we know it's not, because I'm just such a screw up and you know that and there's nothing I can do about it. I lost you your job and I mean, sure you got it back, but it was still my fault you lost it because I'm such a dumb fuck that I don't even think, I just do things and then everyone else has to suffer because of it. I can't stand you being mad at me because I just can't loose you Dad. I can't. I need you. I can't.”

He couldn't speak any more. All his emotion welled up inside him, stoppering his throat, halting the words that swirled around him in half formed thoughts. When his Dad pulled him in he clung on, needing to have him near. He sobbed into his father's chest as his Dad rubbed his back and kissed his head.

“Shh. It's alright son. It's alright. I'm not going anywhere.”

Stiles didn't know how long they sat there, clinging onto each other. Eventually he realised he had no more tears left in his body. The ball of iron he'd been carrying around in his chest for weeks was gone. He lifted himself out of his father's arms and wiped off his eyes.

“Better?” his Dad asked.

“Yeah.” He said. Sometimes all you needed was a good cry.

“I am not mad at you, not any more. Yeah, you screw up sometimes. Lord knows I do to. Every one screws up sometimes. Even your mother did.”

“Heh. Name one time?”

His father opened his mouth only to realise that there were no words to come out.

“Well, I can't think of one but I'm sure she did.” He clicked his fingers and pointed at Stiles. “Wait, one time she put salt in her rice crispy squares instead of sugar and made half the kids in your class throw up.”

Stiles laughed. “I don't remember that.”

“You probably suppressed the memory. You were only four at the time. The point is you are my son and no matter how many times you screw up and no matter how mad I get at you or you get at me, you will still always be my son. I will always love you. I promise. And no matter what happens, whether we're in the middle of a huge fight or I have sixteen murders on my case I will always be there for you if you really need me.”

Stiles took a deep breath this time to hold back the tears.

“I love you too Dad. Always.” They hugged again, this time without the desperation. “Thanks. I needed that. I need to hear that.”

“I know son. I know.”

Stiles looked across at the table. It was littered with case files. Lydia, Jackson and Gerard all glared off the table, now joined with grainy CCTV images of blood donation trucks parked on street corners.

“Bringing work home again?”

“Tell me about it. Gerard Argent's disappearance has had absolutely no leads. It's like he literally vanished. There are a few more signs of Lydia Martin. It's beginning to look like she ran away. The girl is smart. If she wants to cover her tracks she will. AND if that wasn't enough I've got the mayor breathing down my neck about loosing his son's body. Like it was my fault.”

Stiles swallowed hard. He could solve all of his Dad's problems by just telling him everything. Yeah right Stiles, he thought, and end up spending the rest of the month in a psych ward.

Instead, he looked at the files arranged on the table. Maps and photographs. Lists of interviews with paramedics and coroners. There were shots of the inside of Lydia's room, and an inventory detailing all the things her parents had recognised as missing; a mixture of personal and practical items.

“Hey. You're not supposed to look at that.” His father snatched the police report out of his hand. “That's offical.”

“Never stopped me before. You thinking they might be related?”

“Lydia and Jackson, almost definitely but I have no idea how. She doesn't strike me as the sort of nut job to steal her boyfriends corpse and go on a joy ride. Gerard though... I don't know. Could just be coincidence.”

Stiles stopped talking. He was supposed to be helping the cover up, not getting his Dad to expose it. Luckily his Dad cut him off before he had a chance to dig himself deeper.

“Don't you have homework?”

Unfortunately, Stiles did. A lot in fact. And three tests. And a report due in next week. Perhaps it was time he started thinking about that for a change.

“And here I was thinking we were having a nice evening of father-son bonding.”

His father gave him a playful shove and wished him well on his way upstairs, telling him dinner would be in an hour or so and that they were having meatloaf. Stiles rolled his eyes. Another night of grease and gristle to clog his father's arteries.

Stiles only had to put his hand on the handle to his room to know it wasn't empty. The presence in the room reverberated up his arm. It was Derek. It had to be. Who else just showed up in your room unannounced. Steeling himself, not knowing what was about to happen he opened the door, ready to take on Derek once more.

But it wasn't Derek.

It was the woman in white.


	14. The Woman in White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Woman in White has an offer for Stiles.

 She was stood in the middle of his room. The lights weren't on but the shimmer off of her coat was enough to see by. Coming back to his senses he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up again.” He pulled his chair over and sat down facing her. “You were listening to my minor mental breakdown downstairs I take it.”

“Bad day, Little Red?”

Oh come on! He wasn't even wearing that hoody today.

“No. It's been a pretty good day, actually. Weird. But good.”

It was true. What ever else his tumble with Derek had been it had been really, really good. He scratched at his chin with the back of his fingers. His skin still burned from where Derek's stubble had rubbed against him.

“Hale show you a good time?”

Stiles froze.

“Don't look so surprised. He went in the locker room. Everyone else came out. Fifteen minutes later he runs out of there like a cat with its tail of fire. It doesn't take a genius to work out what happened. The sexual tension between the two of you is nauseating.”

Well no one had told him!

“You were watching?”

“I thought we had already established that Derek Hale is not the only one capable of lurking around high schools to spy on adolescent boys. Admittedly, my intentions were somewhat more honourable.”

Stiles mouth was dry. His heart was racing. God, if this was what it was like when a complete stranger knew what would he be like if his Dad or Scott ever found out? Oh shit. What if Derek was telling Scott right now? Or Isaac. No, he wouldn't do that. Stiles remembered the look on his face. Not disgust. Just shock. Derek had been expecting that as much as Stiles had, that is to say, not at all.

“But I didn't come here tonight to talk about Derek Hale. I came to talk about you. One Mr Stiles Stilinski.”

“About me? Wait. Is this about joining the Sentinels. I'm not really sure what that deal at the Argent's was all about but –”

“Hush young padawan,” she said. She waved her hand through the air, as if trying to use the Force on him.

Stiles started. “You've seen Star Wars?” It was almost like there was a real person underneath that hood. 

“Who hasn't? Empire is the better movie, but personally I prefer Jedi, I didn't _hate_ Phantom Menace and Han shot first but that is still not why I came here. I am _not_ here to offer you a position as a Sentinel.”

Stiles didn't realise how much he had been looking forward to being a Sentinel until she said that. He'd be a law man, like his Dad. Dispensing justice, only to a slightly different type of criminal. He might even get a gun.

“You aren't?”

“No. I came to offer you something else. That, in fact.”

She pointed past him. He followed the line of her finger. Hanging from the back of his door, unnoticed before now, was a long, white, hooded jacket that seemed to glow slightly in the moon light. It was the double of the one she wore, only cut for a man's figure. His figure.

“I don't want you to become a Sentinel of the White Order. I want you to become a _member_ of the White Order. A Councilman.”

A member of the White Order. The group of people who first created werewolves. They wanted him, Stiles Stilinski, to be a member.

“Are you crazy?”

“My mother always said so, but I don't see what that has to do with anything.”

That was not the answer he had been expecting.

“You... what... but... I thought that the Council or the Order or whatever it's called was supposed to be this great, wise group of people with mystical powers of clairvoyance?”

“We are. Well. We are great and mystical. Not so sure on the wise in a few cases. Most cases.”

“And you want me? The boy who can't even stage a kidnapping or tie a werewolf to a radiator right.”

The hood swivelled away from him surveying the room. She began to move around, running her fingers across the surfaces. 

“You seemed to be doing much better at lacrosse today,” she said. “Fantastically in fact. It was almost as if you knew where the ball would be.”

Stiles watched her cautiously as she stopped, resting on the picture of his Mom he kept on the book shelf. Her fingers rested for a second against the frame.

“I did. I could see it. I knew where the ball would go. But that was... wasn't that just those freaky Sentinel powers you gave me? Seeing the web or whatever it's called.”

“No. The web only shows the connections between people. Sentinels can tell which strings to pluck to get their way. They can't see into the future. That is a gift the council are wise enough to keep to themselves. Why do you think you worry about your father's diet so much Stiles?”

She turned back to face him now.

“My Dad's diet? Because he eats to much junk food for a man his age.”

“And that will lead to heart disease. As it currently stands, without your intervention your father would have died of a heart attack in four years. Tuesday afternoon. It would have been a gloriously sunny day and you would have gotten the news whilst you were away at college. You've just passed that bitching hard calculus test you were worrying about and wanted to call him to congratulate yourself only you get Melissa McCall on the other end of the line. Been trying to get you all morning.”

Stiles stomach froze. His Dad was going to die? No. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't loose them both.

“What do you mean 'would'.”

“You may not wear the mantel yet, but you still see the twists and turns of fate. Most things in life are not fixed. They can be shifted and changed by people's actions. We, those of us who have taken the White, we can see turning points. The places to go left, not right. The butterfly flap that will raze a city. You already have that power, you just don't see it because you didn't know you had it. You could see your father's death and you knew what you had to do to alter it. Already his lifetime has been extended by years because of your actions.”

Stiles stared at the faceless woman before him.

“I can help people. I can keep people from dying?”

The hood tilted to one side.

“Sometimes. But eventually everybody has to die.”

“Death equals all?”

The words she'd spoken at the graveyard. They made sense now.

“Exactly. That is why the Council is not immortal. We could be, we have the power, but we don't use it. You can't live if you don't die. We're no better than the rest of the human race. Only different. Everybody dies. Some people must die at a certain time in a certain way. There are fixed points, unchangeable and unflinching. No matter what happens they must happen when they happen, how they happen.”

She sounded sad. No, more than that. Heartbroken.

“Our deaths are such events. To take the White, wear the robe, you know exactly, _exactly_ , how you will die. Nothing in all of heaven and hell will be able to change it. Do you understand what I'm saying.”

He wasn't looking at her now. It was all too much to take in. Time lines. Potential futures. Fixed points. His father's death. His own.

“I just... I just don't understand! Why me? Why am I the one who gets this?”

The woman in white stood up straighter. Her hand lifted, stopped and clenched its fingers as she aborted her decision.

“You said your mother was a Sentinel but that's not quite true. She was never a Sentinel. She took the White. She saw her death and then she took the robe back off.”

“What?”

Stiles felt numb. His mother was in the Weiss Rat. She'd worn one of those coats, if only briefly. She'd been given this power that was now being offered to him and she had turned it down.

“Your mother was from the line which all Council men and women are born into. The line you are born into. The line I was born into.”

Stiles looked up slowly.

“You? You mean... we're related?”

“Yes.”

Her hands lifted up towards her hood.

“Janella... Jane... was my sister.”

She lowered her hood off her head.

“My twin.”

Stiles couldn't breath. He was staring straight at the face of his dead mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The big reveal. I'm kind of worried people might think this is a bit cliched, so again any constructive critisism either way would be appreciated. Thank you for reading.


	15. Birthright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Woman in White has a lot to say to a shell shocked Stiles.

 He wanted to scream. Tried to. Couldn't. His voice wouldn't respond.

“That's the foresight again.” She was totally nonchalant. “Your Dad's downstairs. If you scream he'll come running, see me and that would not be a good thing. Your body is responding to that knowledge even without you being aware of it.”

How could she be so calm while she was wearing his mother's face? It was the same. Exactly the same.

No. No it wasn't. Looking closer he could see the differences. She had worry lines on her brow while his mother had laugher lines at the corner of her eyes. Her back was poker straight instead of slouching as badly as he did. Though her hair was the same dark brown, it was scraped back into a viciously sleek pony tail while his mother nearly always wore it down. All of the tiny minute differences revealed themselves to him. The same start but a completely different life. The same DNA but a totally different person.

The same DNA. The same blood. The same tissue type.

“You.” His voice finally returned to his control. “You could have saved her.”

The woman in white, he couldn't think of her as anything else right now, lowered her eyes from him.

“You would have been a match. You could have given her a kidney. My Mom had family. Had a freaking twin and she didn't say anything. She just let herself die and you let her!” He stormed up to her. No matter what, he couldn't blame his Mom. Not out loud, not right now. “You say you can see the future, see how things pan out. How could you just let her die like that!”

“She left us.” Stiles took a step back at the unexpected fury. “All the time you were searching for us did you ever think we weren't looking for her? She was my sister. My twin. My other half and she just left us. She never told us what she saw to make her return the white coat, she just did it. Do you know how many other people have done that? Three. In over four thousand years, three have taken the White and then given it back. She was the fourth.”

Stiles staggered backwards. He'd never seen his mother angry, not like this. The woman's face melted again as her anger faded, more recognisable as his mother now though her mouth turned down at the edges. His mother had always been smiling, if only slightly. Even at the end she was still smiling. This woman was totally calm despite her sudden outburst.

“Sorry,” she said, “but you aren't the only one who suffered at Janey's death.”

Janey. That's what his Dad called her. No one else. Just his Dad. It felt like sacrilege.

“I know this is a lot to take in.” She waved at her face as if it explained everything. “But there's more you need to hear.”

“More?” said Stiles. “Of course, go right on ahead. It's not like I've just had the shock of my freaking life or anything. Carry on!”

The woman leaned back against his desk. Her face looked pale, lit by the glow of her coat. A vision of the last time he'd seen his mother's face, her actual face, hovered before him. She'd had an open casket at the funeral. It was his mother's face but it hadn't been his mother. Just the body she'd lived in for a while.

“The woman you knew as Jane Stilinski was born Janella Weiss. She was taught the ways of the White Council and raised to be one of us, as was I. We still went to school, we still hung out with our friends. Only on the weekends and vacations instead of going to the mall or whatever we were learning about werewolves and wendigos and all the other things that fairy tales tell you don't really exist. On our seventeenth birthday we put on our robes and got ready to take our places on the council. After the ceremony Janey went up to her room and the next morning all we found was her robe, a note and her knife.”

The woman held forward the knife she was talking about, held in a suede sheath.

“It's a family heirloom. She was the oldest, if only by twenty two minutes and thirty seven seconds, but who's counting. Even though she left it, it was never mine, it was hers. That makes it yours. Incredible piece of work. Definitely not human.” 

She took it out of its sheath. At first Stiles thought that half of it was in shadow, but it was on the wrong side for the way the light fell. The blade was made of two different metals, blurring into each other like charcoal. One side shone silver, the other was dull and black.

His attention snapped back on himself. What the hell? Did she just walk in here with his mother's face and starts pulling out weaponry?

“A knife? You want to talk about a freaking knife!”

“It's important. It's part of who she was that you never knew. Who you are. Here. Take it.”

Stiles could believe this. For gods sake! He knew his mother. A knife wasn't going to tell him anything new. He snatched it out of her hand. The trill ran up his arm as soon as he held the handle in his fingers. A wave of calm washed over him. It seemed to hum in his grip.

“You can feel it, can't you? Magic, for want of a better word, was part of your mother. I'm not saying that you didn't know who your mother was, but there was a part of her she kept hidden. When she left this behind it was because she wanted to leave all of that side of her behind. It's an amazing weapon thought. The silver side does for a lot of nasties, your common werewolf included. The other side's iron, for fae and the like.”

“Fae?” asked Stiles. The knife seemed to be taking the shock away, draining it for him.

“The Fair folk. Leprechauns. Elves. Fairies. Pretty much anything to come out of Ireland that isn't Guiness. But none of that Tinkerbelle crap. I mean the kind with a vendetta against humanity who make you dance until you die.”

Stiles let the knife drop from his in front of his face to stare at her incredulously.

“There are fairies. And leprechauns.”

She took the knife from him and resheathed it before setting it down on the table.

“You've read the Hale's bestiary and the Argent's too by the sound of it. You know there's more out there than werewolves and kanimas. I should probably send you our version. It's more up to date and, you know, not in Latin.”

His head was swimming now he no longer had the knife in his hand. This was all to much too fast. Ten days ago he hadn't even known he had a family and now he had heirlooms. 

His mother had left without a word. His Mom. She wouldn't do that. She wasn't like that. He knew her.

“A note?” he asked. “You said she left a note.”

“ _Don't worry. I'll be fine. Please don't come looking for me. This is where my path leads. Follow your own. All my love, your Janey. PS remember to feed Matching._ ”

Stiles knew that it was word for word. The woman had probably read it a thousand times, searching the words for some clue. It's what he would have done.

“Matching?”

“Her pet snake. It was short for 'Matching Snakeskin Shoes and Bag'. You have her sense of humour, I think I told you that already.”

“My Mom had a snake?”

“Yup. Boa constrictor. Lived to the ripe old age of thirty four before finally giving up the ghost. He's my snazziest pair of boots now.”

Stiles shook his head. That was it. He couldn't take this any more.

“Why are you even here? In my room. In this town at all. She asked you not to try and find her.”

“And we didn't. I tried to, but I wasn't supposed to. She knew how to cover her tracks. I came here because of the Argent's but when I got here I... felt her presence. That's not normal. The Weiss family genes mixed with super special twin powers, I'm guessing. I knew where she was buried the second I got into town. Headed right over there and who do I meet but my own nephew. I didn't even know she'd had kids.”

Stiles looked up at her, hearing the hurt in her voice. Her eyes were the same. That was what disturbed him the most. Everything about her from the way she stood to how she did her hair was not the mother he remembered, but from her eyes he could see his mother staring back.

She stepped away from the table and walked over towards the door.

“You need to think. To process all this.”

He stood. Despite his anger, his confusion he didn't want her to go. What if he never saw her again? She was his only link to the mother he never knew.

“How will I find you again?”

“When you want me, when you need me, I'll be there.”

She put her hand on the door knob when Stiles held out the knife to her.

“You should take this. My Dad'll find it and think I'm out knifing kids with the local gang every weekend.”

“No. I came to bring that back to you. It's yours, you can do what you want with it. If you don't want it, get rid of it. Be careful though. It was soaked in wolf's bane, holy water, kanima juice and god knows what else when it was forged, so the rumour goes. It'll kill most supernaturals pretty good if you stick 'em with it. Janey nicked herself with it once. Knocked herself out then spent the next three hours throwing up neon green.”

Stiles looked at it in his hands. He could feel the history of it. The thousand hands who had held it before him. His mother's. The grandfather for which he was named, but never met. Was he still alive? Was his grandmother? Did he have any other aunts or uncles? Cousins?

“How do I do it?” he said, cradling the knife to his chest.

“Do what?”

“Take the white. Is that really what you call it. Sounds like I'm snorting cocaine. My Dad would probably actually prefer that.”

She laughed. For another brief moment his mother stood before him; happy, healthy and whole again. Then she was gone.

“Oh, he finds out one day, but I'm not telling you any more or you won't look surprised. There is a whole ceremony but none of that really matters. All you have to do is put on that coat on the door and look in a mirror.”

Stiles eyes rose and glanced over at the mirror that hung on his wall. He could see himself reflected; he looked scared. As he spoke he watched his lips move as if he were another person.

“Then what? I watch my final and brutal end, leaving me a scared and broken shell of a man for the rest of my short life?”

She laughed again.

“That doesn't happen. Not often. The details get blurred out most of the time. You might see the when but not the how, or the how but not the who. It stops it from defining your life.”

She opened his door and stepped out onto the landing. Stiles stepped forward and nearly grabbed her arm before shrinking back. He couldn't bring himself to touch her. That would confirm this all was real and he couldn't deal with that yet.

“You can't go that way. My Dad will see you.”

“Don't worry. He doesn't.”

It was the certainty that threw him. She walked down the stairs and out the front door, his Dad emerging from the bathroom five seconds later, oblivious.

Back in the quiet of his room, Stiles sat on the end of his bed, the knife in his hand. He pulled it out again, tracing the swirling pattern that were etched on the blade, linking silver and iron. He could feel the power off it, like static pulling slightly at every hair. This was who he was. This was who he could be.

On the back of his door the coat glowed softly. On casters he went to it. Beneath his fingers it felt perfectly smooth, cool even in the warm night. He reached up and slid it off the hanger. It fell like water, that should just slip through his fingers, but he could grip it just fine. The fabric seemed to have no weight in his hands. With his back to the mirror he slipped it on over his t-shirt. Eyes closed tightly he turned around.

The mirror was in front of him. All he had to do was open his eyes and look up. Just look up. That was all. Look up and join his mother. Join his family. Open his eyes and see his lineage. Just look. 

All he needed to do was see.

Just look up.

Just look.

He let out a strangled yell as he spasmed his body, tearing at the robe that tangled around him. Flinging his arms he got free and threw it into the bottom of his wardrobe, shoving it in over and over, stamping it with his feet. He slammed the doors shut and threw his back against them to keep them closed. To keep the past he'd never known from taking him over.

He slid down the doors, hunched forward and began to sob.


	16. Allison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Stiles take time to catch up at school.

 “So you coming by the house this afternoon?” asked Scott as they walked to the lunch room.

Stiles adjusted his book bag. “Not today. I do have other things to do with my time than sit around in a burned out house watching you and Isaac get beaten to a pulp.”

“Like what?”

Like not thinking about Derek Hale kissing me, he thought.

“Oh you know. Cross word puzzles. Knitting. I'm thinking about taking up crochet.”

“Okay, I get it. It can't be much fun for you just sitting around half the time. Even if you did go all ninja warrior on Derek for a second.”

“Yeah, for a second before he beat me to a squishy, squishy pulp.”

Don't say anything. Don't do anything. Don't think about anything. Especially not Derek Hale's rock hard body, naked and sweaty rubbing against you or slamming you up against a locker while his lips range down your neck.

Damn it.

“What's up with you?” Scott asked.

“Nothing!” Stiles said. Too high.

“Yes it is, your heart rate just went through the roof when I mentioned Derek. What happened in the locker room? You've still got a split lip. Talk to me. We're friends. You can tell me anything you know.”

Now you know how it felt when you shut me out to go run around in the woods with Isaac, Stiles thought bitterly. He bit back the sentiment.

“If Derek hurt you...” Scott began.

“He didn't hurt me.”

No, he threw me down on the bench and ground against me until I thought my balls were going to explode.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

“Then what happened?” Scott asked.

“I told you already.” Stiles couldn't meet Scott's eyes because he was sure that would be all it took to break him. “He asked me if I was a werewolf or not and who bit me. I told him not and no one.”

Technically true.

“And your lip.”

“Opened the locker door into my face. I am an idiot after all.”

Scott shook his head. 

“You know I can tell you're lying through your teeth, right.”

Stiles put his arm around his best friend.

“Yup. And you letting me get away with it is what makes you such a good friend.”

“And the sudden monkey like dexterity?”

“No idea. Maybe I got bitten by a radioactive gibbon. That would explain the sudden spurt of hair growth and uncontrollable urge to fling my faeces at everyone.”

He stroked his baby smooth chin. He couldn't imagine himself with a beard, but he would have liked the option of growing one if the need arose. Some people didn't have any problem with their facial hair. On some people it grew into perfect scruffy stubble that ground up your skin when they kissed you like the world was going to end.

No Stiles. Stop it Stiles. That way madness lies.

“You're full of it,” Scott laughed.

“It's why you love me.”

Out the corner of his eye Scott saw Mr Harris walking down the hall. Stiles had been making a point of force feeding Scott the periodic table at any given opportunity. Battered and bruised from training, Stiles would sit him down and drill him on the alkali metals until Scott cried. Strained as their relationship was at the moment he was not about to loose his best friend to a repeated year. It seemed to be taking. Now Scott was trying to do anything he could to get enough extra credit to pass the year with a C average.

Scott waved goodbye to Stiles and dashed off after the Chemistry teacher.

Stiles looked up and down the corridor, wondering what he was supposed to do for the rest of lunch break. 

In the corner by the lockers Danny was giving Isaac a long and luxurious kiss. Isaac had never officially come out to anyone. One day he'd just started making out with Danny in public and everyone had been completely unsurprised. The pair of them morphed and now it was himself and Derek pushed up against the lockers, hands brushing up against each other while the rest of the world ignored them.

“I hear you had something to do with that.”

Alison had appeared by his side while he was distracted by his own perverse imagination. He must have been staring. Looking back he just saw the two of them chatting with Greenburg, stealing furtive glances at each other.

“I might have pointed the two of them in each other's direction,” he tried his best to sound falsely modest. How he would have sounded normally, if he could just get Derek out of his head for two seconds. Crap. There he was again.

“It's good. Isaac's had a tough life. He deserves to be happy. I'm guessing Danny doesn't know about the... you know...”

She held her hands up in fake claws and pulled a ferocious face. She even went 'grr'. Allison could be adorable at times. No wonder Scott loved her so much.

“No. I don't think so. From the sounds of it they mostly just make out and have sex. The advantages of being a gay guy.”

Why did you say that Stiles? Why? Why? Why?

“Bet you wish you were gay sometimes.”

Allison punched him lightly on the shoulder. It was an awkward motion. It was times like this Stiles remembered he and Allison had very little common ground other than Scott and other, sexier, werewolves. Stop it. Stop this now.

“So. Allison. How you doing?” A loaded question if ever there was one.

“Great,” she said automatically before catching herself. “Actually not that great. Pretty crappy really.”

They'd been gravitating towards an unoccupied bench in the corner of the lunch hall and sat down. She looked almost forlorn.

“I see you're hanging with a new crowd at the moment,” said Stiles.

Alison nodded. With Lyida and Jackson out of the picture a new king and queen of the school had swept into the breach. Alison was well and truly out of their click. Instead she was with an artier crowd. The kind that wore the paint on their jackets as a badge of honour and said things were 'Kafkaesque' despite having never actually read a word of his books.

“They're ok. They don't have to go home and worry about their grandfather killing another person or that they had to break up with the person they love because their mother killed herself.”

She hung her head forward into her hands, clinging onto her hair like she was trying to stop her brain from exploding.

“Awkward,” Stiles said. They laughed and it wasn't any more. 

“I just...” Allison said letting her fingers run through her hair. “I should have said good bye.”

Stiles could feel the guilt. He knew it.

“Look. When my Mom died I felt... I felt like I should have been able to do something. I should have been able to stop her from dying.”

“But your Mom didn't drive a kitchen knife into her heart!” Every word was weighted with agony. “Your Mom didn't choose to leave you. She didn't want to die.”

Yes, he thought, she did. 

Stiles reached across and put his hand over hers.

“And neither did yours. Your Mom loved you. No one is to blame here. She just thought she had no other way out.”

She looked at her hands clasped together on the table sadly. She spoke with a sad acceptance.

“Why did Derek have to bite her?”

Because she was about to kill your boyfriend, he wanted to shout in a burst of defensiveness. But he didn't. He knew what he needed to say.

“Blaming Derek won't help. He was defending himself. Defending his pack and I think you know that. You can blame Derek all you want, hunt him down and porcupine him with arrows but it won't help. It won't bring your Mom back. It will just make the anger worse.”

Allison refused to meet his eye. Her voice was strained. “When did you get so smart?”

“Baby, I was born this way. It was the smart- _ass_ I had to work at.”

“I wish Lydia was here,” she said.

Stiles felt her absence like hot lead poured straight into his stomach. It caught him off guard sometimes, especially recently as her omnipresence in his mind began to wane. He'd come up with a brilliant plan to get her to dance with him at prom only to remember that she wasn't there.

“You must miss her too,” said Alison.

“Yeah. But she chose Jackson. She'd rather have him as a killer man lizard than have me. I guess... I guess I just took that as the sign, you know.”

He hadn't though. He'd still harboured his not-so-secret love for her. When he'd heard the news she'd run off with Jackson he'd been devastated. What if something happened to her and he never found out? But time is a wonderful healer.

“I still think about her,” he said. “Most days. Every day.”

No. That was a lie. He hadn't thought about her, not once, since Derek had grabbed him in the locker room. That probably meant something, but at that moment in time he was finding it hard to care.

“Stiles. Why were you with that woman the other day?”

The sudden change in topic shook Stiles. He looked up into Alison's questioning eyes.

“Which woman? I mean, there are so many. I'm quite the stud now you know...”

“Please? Can you just cut the sarcasm and answer the question.”

Stiles swallowed hard. If he wasn't allowed to use sarcasm, what did he have? He had the truth, that was what he had, and for once he was going to use it.

“What did your Dad say?” he asked.

“Not much. That she was dangerous but I didn't think you'd be hanging around with anyone that could be that dangerous.”

“Apart from Scott and Isaac and, well, you if you've got a crossbow in your hand.”

And Derek. He was the most dangerous of all and not just because of his claws.

“I think you're the one who'd be more dangerous with a crossbow,” said Allison.

“Fair point. She was... doing an audit I think. Making sure the Argent's were toeing the line and as it currently stands, you are not looking too rosy.”

“Okay, but why were you there?”

He shrugged.

“To assure good working practices? I'm not really sure myself. She just kind of showed up in my life one day and now she won't leave.”

He still didn't picture her with a face. The dark, formless hood was much easier to deal with that what lay beneath and everything that her real face meant.

Alison smiled weakly.

“It's the full moon tonight.”

That was the time limit. The next full moon. It had already come. What would happen when the clock struck midnight.

“I don't suppose you have any idea what 'gift' they're going to take from us,” she asked.

“Not a clue.”

“My Dad thinks it might be we have some power we didn't know about, that's why born Argent's are always the best hunters over the ones that marry in. To be honest, I think he'd be relieved if that got taken away from us. I know I would. Not having to worry about any of this any more. To just be a normal teenager with a normal Dad living a normal life.”

“You any closer to...” he trailed off. There were some questions you couldn't finish. Are you any closer to finding and killing your Grandfather is one of them.

She shrugged.

“Dad has this theory, about the blood bank robberies. He thinks that's Grand... Gerard, that what ever he is now, he needs blood or maybe he just wants it. We're going to try and lure him out tonight. We think he's laired up somewhere but... I've been reading and... and I don't think there's any human left in him. I'm not sure there has been for a very long time.”

Stiles could see it in her eyes. Gerard was the one she truly blamed for her mother's death. All of this was his fault in her eyes. She was probably right.

The bell went off, signalling the end of lunch break and conducting in a symphony of scraping chairs. Allison sniffed and rubbed her face, careful not to smudge her mascara. She didn't want anyone to know she'd been upset. Stiles pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Allison looked at it like he had miniature elephant sat on his palm.

“You carry a handkerchief?”

“It was my Mom's” he said. It was all he needed too. Allison finished wiping her eyes, handed it back to him and went to leave but Stiles called her back.

“Hey Allison? Don't just shut Scott out. You can rely on him.”

“I know,” she said, “but I can't rely on me.”

As she walked away Stiles looked at the white square of cloth, now smudged with black. He ran his thumb nail over the stitched letters in the corner. It had always confused him why it was monogrammed _J.W_. and not _R_ for Roberts.

How many other mysteries of his mother's past were waiting for him to find? Would they all make him as sad as this one had? The cloth was still damp as he wrapped it round his fingers distractedly.

_He was in the woods. All around the calls for blood deafened him to all other sound. At his feet lay Allison, her body bloody, lifeless eyes staring up at him. Scott's lifeless body fell over hers, then Isaac's, then Mr Argent's, Boyd, Erika-_

_Now he was in another place. Derek was there, thrashing. A face cackled with manic delight, eyes like blood. Derek stopped moving. Eyes turning to black pits._

The dinner lady shook him by the shoulder. He was in the lunch room. The handkerchief was wrapped so tightly around his finger that it was turning blue.

He might have just seen the death of nearly everyone he'd loved but not all deaths were fixed. Time was changeable, the woman in white had said that. This was just one possible route. It would all be fine. He balled up the handkerchief in his hand and ran to class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on updating another chapter tonight but I accidentally set my face on fire (long story) and didn't get a chance to proof the next one. Sorry. No cliffhanger tonight, you can have that one tomorrow morning (I'm fine btw. It was mostly my hair).


	17. Round 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes over to the Hale house to talk with Derek. Honestly, he only ever meant to talk.

 Stiles sat in his car for a good ten minutes before getting out. He then spent the next five minutes walking from his car, halfway to the front door and back again half a dozen times, stopping every so often to chew at the scab on his lip where Derek had bitten him. When he'd finally made it all the way up to the front door it only took him a minute of putting his hand up and down, until he finally got up the courage to knock. He took a deep breath and rolled his neck to prepare himself.

As his hand fell forward the door swung open and he found himself face to face with Derek. 

“The door doesn't even lock.”

Derek turned his back on Stiles and stalked off into his home, leaving the door standing open. Stiles stood on the doorstep dumb founded, watching Derek as he went to the hallway table and started to unwrap the long bandages from around his fists. He'd been training. His muscles were glistening, covered only by that tantalisingly tight wife beater. Was it the same one he'd been wearing the other day? It was hard to tell. Derek's wardrobe wasn't exactly varied.

Derek placed both his hands on the table and sagged his shoulders.

“Are you going to stand on my porch all day or are you going to come in? What, are you a warlock?” He muttered the last bit to himself.

Stiles took a step in. 

“A warlock? They exist?”

Derek threw down the bandages that he had been holding on the table and swivelled around, defiantly looking Stiles in the eye.

“Yes, but they can't cross over a threshold unless you invite them in. What do you want Stiles? You've been pacing outside for half an hour.”

“You were watching me?” For some reason that made his stomach raise up a couple of inches.

“No. I could hear you. It was incredibly irritating.”

“Oh right.” His stomach sank back down.

Derek lowered his eyes and walked over to the other side of the hallway with a false sense of purpose, busying himself at a bookshelf.

“Peter's not here. If that's who you're looking for.”

Still a sore spot there, then. Stiles felt a small thrill of triumph without knowing why.

“I know he's not. Isaac is on a date and Scott is at home revising for the algebra test I guilt tripped him into studying for.”

Derek turned back to him. His entire face was taught with barely suppressed rage. How did he manage to be so angry all the time without bursting a blood vessel?

“You were waiting?”

“Call me crazy but I kind of thought you might not have wanted everyone to overhear us talking about that time you assaulted me in the locker room. With your mouth.”

“Way I remember it you weren't exactly trying to resist me,” Derek spat out before he realised what he was saying. His eyes widened and he looked away.

Stiles took a step forward.

“What was...”

“I don't know!” Derek threw his hands up. “Alright, I don't know. I heard you going on about Peter, thought he'd given you the bite, and … it all just went red.”

“Were you pissed off that Peter was trying to get his own pack together without you... or that he was trying to get me?”

Derek remained silent.

“So what? That was all a territory display? Back off uncle Peter, this one's mine. That's why you felt the need to rub yourself off against me?”

Derek's head snapped back up. 

“Hey! Don't you lay all this on me. You were there. You were doing just as much as I was.”

“I was not,” Stiles lied.

Somewhere in all the shouting and posturing they'd been stepping towards each other, getting closer and closer. Stiles felt his resolve begin to quaver. Coast on the anger, don't think about how much bigger, stronger and faster he is than you. Don't think about the way his eyes are flicking over your body, how his muscles are still tensing from his work out. Derek poked his finger at Stiles chest.

“You were the one who told me to do it, screw what anyone else thinks and take what I want. Those are your words, not mine.”

They edged closer, eyes locked together. Both their voices were hoarse from the strain.

“So that's what you want? Me?” said Stiles. He sounded a hell of a lot braver than he felt.

“Maybe it is. I told you. You're smart. Saved my life a few times. Be good addition to the pack.”

“Still pissed off the little human saved your ass? Good addition to the pack? That all?”

Derek said nothing. Stiles could feel Derek's breath, tensed under the huge control he was forcing over his body. That Stiles was putting over his own. Every muscle, every sinew being held back by the force of his will. The web of Derek's emotions shivered into view, a mess of burning scarlet. Stiles couldn't hold back his tongue.

“You wanted it. You can pretend all you want but if you didn't want it why are you as turned on as I am right now?”

Derek grabbed him, lips a tangle against each other. Stiles pulled at Derek's hair with one hand, the other wrapped around his waist. He needed them to be together, smashing and crashing until they were one. Derek's hands were twisted in his shirt. Stiles felt it tear. He didn't care. He wanted to rip it from his body. No, he wanted Derek to. Derek's teeth pulled at his tongue as he grabbed Stiles around his legs, lifting him up in the air. The two of them stumbled back, Stiles landing roughly against the hallway table.

He'd been hard since Derek had said wanted what he'd taken. Stiles wanted him to take it again, over and over until he couldn't speak, couldn't breath. Until there was nothing left in the world but the two of them. Falling over, into each other, again and again.

They pulled back from each other just long enough to strip off their shirts, needing to feel flesh and fire against each other, sweat mingling, unable to tell who's heart beat belonged to who. Derek. Only Derek. Derek's hair in his fingers. Derek's stubble on his chin. Derek's tongue, probing his mouth, trailing down his neck, across his chest. Derek's teeth on his collar bone. Derek's hands on his back, his waist, his belt. Everything was Derek. Just Derek. Always Derek.

They jerked apart. The moment snapped.

“What?” said Stiles. He was delirious from lust. The house could still be on fire for all he knew.

“Someone's coming.”

The shock of cold went straight to his groin. They jumped apart, scrabbling for their discarded shirts. It was only when he jumped off the table that Stiles realised Derek had managed to undo his belt.

Jesus Christ. How had this happened again? He'd come over to talk. About the locker room, about Gerard, the alphas everything but not to do this! He'd sworn he wouldn't do this.

“That's my shirt!” Derek said grabbing his tank top back off Stiles.

Picking up his own he remembered it was torn. Crap. He could feel Derek's teeth marks on neck. Would it be showing already? God, he was still half hard.

“Who is it?” Stiles hissed.

Derek didn't say anything. He looked anywhere but at Stiles. Neither had meant for that to happen again. Both had wanted it.

The door burst open. 

A battered body slumped forward through the frame. Derek ran forward to catch it. He pulled the person in, their head lolling back as Derek laid them on the floor.

“Erika?”

Even Stiles could smell the stench, like she'd been kept in an out house for a week. He hoped that wasn't the case.

“Erika? What happened, are you okay?”

Derek was holding his pack mate in his arms. Erika was covered in scratches. Around each wrist were thin rings of electrical burns. It seemed the Argent's weren't the only ones versed in werewolf torture.

“Boyd...” she croaked.

Derek snapped his fingers at Stiles.

“Water. Kitchen. Go.”

Stiles ran and came back thirty seconds later with a glass. Erika spluttered at first but managed to drink it down.

“It's okay Erika,” said Stiles. “You're free. You're safe what happened.”

“Safe?” Erika laughed. Manic. “How can I be safe? I'm not safe. They'll find me. They always find me. Boyd...”

“Boyd. Yes Erika. Where is he?” said Derek. His intense eyes were scanning over Erika, assessing the damage.

“He's with them.” It was a bitter expulsion.

“We'll get him back,” said Derek. “Just tell us how to find the alphas.”

“No.” When Erika smiled her teeth were sheened with her own blood. “You don't get it. He's _with_ them. He's on their side.”

“What?”

“He joined them. All he's got to do now is kill himself an alpha. Only two of them round here I can see...” She was laughing, he mind disjointed by pain.

Derek stiffened. Stiles wanted to reach out and put a hand on Derek's shoulder, comfort him. Wanting to keep his hand, he didn't.

“What did they do to you?” said Derek.

Erika winced, hand coming up to her stomach.

“They tortured us for a while. Didn't ask us anything. Just playing with us. Then they asked us to join them. When we wouldn't, they turned up the heat. Boyd broke. I didn't.”

Stiles peeled back her shirt to look at her stomach. It was sodden with blood. There was an arrow head in her abdomen. It looked as if she'd tried to pull it out herself a few times and failed. When Stiles touched it she whimpered in pain, too tired to scream. He looked up at Derek for confirmation.

A nod.

Stiles yanked, pulling the arrow head out in one motion. Erika screamed despite her exhaustion. She writhed on the floor but calmed as Derek hushed her.

“It's okay, it's okay. I need you to tell me. Where are they?”

“East,” she mumbled. “I came... I came east. Followed the river.”

She sobbed. Her hair was matted with filth but Derek still cradled her close to him.

“We'll get them. Don't worry we'll get them.”

“Boyd... please don't hurt Boyd...”

Derek stared straight forward. His eyes caught on Stiles'. There was no doubt in his mind that Derek would kill Boyd on sight.

“We'll bring him back home,” Derek lied.

Stiles shook his head and stood to go get something to mop up the blood. As his grip slipped away from Erika, her fingers tightened.

“Wait! I need to... there's something else you need to know.”

She pulled on Stiles, grimacing as she did. Her eyes didn't seem to be focusing.

“What is it?” asked Stiles.

“I always liked you, you know.” Her eyes were dreamy. Distant.

“I know,” he soothed. Panic rose inside him. “Let's not do this. You're going to be fine. Just a few scratches. Good night's sleep and the old wolf powers will kick in.”

“No,” she said, beginning to fall into unconsciousness. “It's not me... Allison...”

“Allison.” Stiles attention was fully focused now. “Allison what.”

“They... they have Allison.”


	18. The White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack mobilises against the alphas but once again Stiles is left standing on the side lines.

 “We have to go! We have to find them now!” Scott yelled. He'd run over, literally run, as soon as Stiles had called him with the news. Isaac wasn't far behind. He was crouched by Erika, moping her brow as she panted in her sleep. She was healing but it was painful and slow.

Derek walked up to him.

“We can't yet Scott. I know you're concerned -”

“Concerned? Concerned would be if she had fallen and scrapped her knee. Right now I am imagining her being torn apart by a pack of insane wolves. This is beyond concerned!”

“We can't just go rushing into this Scott, we have to think about this logically.”

“Screw logic! She might not technically be my girlfriend any more but I still love her. If you think I am just going to sit here and take this –”

“Scott, you have to calm down,” said Isaac. “Running into this all guns blazing is just going to end up with you _both_ getting killed.”

“But if I don't do anything, they'll kill her!”

“We don't know that,” said Derek. “They wouldn't take her if they didn't have a reason to. She's more useful to them alive.”

Scott rounded on Derek.

“So they probably won't kill her yet? Look at Erika! Imagine what that would be like for a human. For all we know they're torturing her right now.”

“She's strong Scott. She can take it,” Stiles said. He put a hand to Scott's shoulder, but his friend shrugged it off forcefully.

“She can take it? Are you kidding me? I don't care if she could take a thousand times what Erika went through. I still want to get her out of there.”

Stiles backed away against the wall. Derek stalked past, visibly ignoring him.

“We'll get her back,” said the alpha. “We'll get her back, I promise you. But right now, we don't even know where she is.”

“Yes we do. Erika said she'd come east, followed the river –”

“That could lead to a thousand places. We go in blindly now we'll just get ourselves killed.”

“Then we follow Erika's scent. She was bleeding, she'll have left a blood trail. We follow it back to their lair.”

Derek grimaced at him.

“There are more of them than us. We're still not ready.”

“So we wait for them to make the first move? Put the game in their court. That sounds like a great idea! We have an advantage. They won't be expecting us. They'll be looking for Erika. They'll be spread out.”

“No. They let Erika go. Don't you get that? They made sure that Erika saw Allison getting taken in, then they let her get free knowing she'd come straight back here and that you'd react like you are. There is no way Erika would have ever made it here otherwise. They've spent all this time learning our weaknesses. Allison is yours.”

Scott turned away furious. Derek was right. It was a trap, obviously a trap. And it was one Scott couldn't help but walk into.

“I don't care. I don't care if I have to go alone. I don't care if they have every single other werewolf from here to Orlando out they're waiting for me. I have to go.”

“And we'll go with you.”

Erika winced as she sat up. Her clothes were still torn from where they'd tortured her but the gashes that had once shown beneath them were now smooth skin once more.

“Sit down Erika,” Derek growled. “You're too weak to go anywhere.”

“No, I'm not. Scott is right. They'll torture her but they're not used to torturing humans. They might... they _will_ go too far. We have to get her back. Tonight.”

“I'm going Derek,” said Scott. “You can help me if you want, but I'm going either way.” 

Derek looked about his pack. He may have been the alpha, but they'd made their decision. He could posture all he wanted, but there was no way out now.

“Fine. But we're going prepared.”

He walked off into the other room. The group followed him to a great chest. Inside was all manner of weaponry Stiles had never seen out side of a movie. Daggers, blow pipes, crossbows, brass knuckles, all with a slight flair that stood them out from your run of the mill gang weaponry: Triskilion's etched into the metal, tips dipped in black oil, the glint of silver on everything. So this is what they'd been training with.

“So you got anything in there for a 147 pound sack of sarcasm?”

Derek didn't look up.

“No Stiles. You're not coming.”

He'd been expecting that.

“Why not? Just because I'm not part of the pack?”

“No.” Derek stood up and faced him. It was at times like this Stiles remembered just how big Derek was. He wasn't much taller, not even much wider just... bigger. “It's because you'll just get in the way. You'll be a distraction.”

Stiles held his eyes again. Distraction? Maybe to Derek. Their unfinished business still hung in the air. The afterglow of the adrenaline still fuelled Stiles.

“Scott. You want me there don't you. I always come in useful.”

“Just stay out of it Stiles!” Scott said, shoving a silver dagger into his belt.

Erika barged into his shoulder pointedly as she walked past.

“One damsel in distress is enough to worry about.”

Stiles stared at them while they continued to ignore him. None of them even noticed when he left.

Mid dramatic exit out the front door he collided with Peter. Derek must have called him back in as well.

“What's the matter?” Peter asked. “The lamb doesn't get to play with the wolves any more?”

Stiles shoved him to one side. Peter caught his arm, his face inches away.

“You'll never be one of them Stiles,” said Peter. “Never be one of us. Until you take the bite.”

Jerking his arm away Stiles walked towards his jeep.

“You can't resist me forever!” 

Door open, Stiles stopped to throw one last comment back at Peter.

“You know. Anyone would think you had ulterior motives in wanting to bite me.”

Peter's eyes lowered.

“We both know I'm not the one in this pack with ulterior motives.”

Stiles felt himself recoil. 

“What? No witty comeback?”

Stiles slammed the door shut and started the car. As he pulled away from the house his last sight was of Peter. Laughing.

 

*****

 

Stiles had been speeding all the way home. It was just as well not many other people were out and about tonight. He might as well have been driving blind.

Did Peter know about him and Derek? _He_ didn't even know about him and Derek, what could Peter know? The woman in white had known, but that wasn't fair. She was spying on him and could see the future and that whole web people connecting thing. She didn't count. Shit! Deacon and Morelle could see that too. Did they know?

He needed to talk to the only person he had left. His Dad.

The second he walked in the front door he knew he wouldn't get that chance.

“I'm about to leave, I just need to leave a note for... oh no wait he just walked in. I'll be there in five.”

His Dad hung up the phone and grabbed his gun belt from the banister.

“Work?” Stiles asked.

“Robbery. An ambulance of all things. It was transporting blood to Beacon Hill's General.”

“Same guys as those ones in the paper?”

He knew it wasn't. It was the Argents. They were going to try lure out Gerard. Tonight. While the werewolves were at war. Peter was right. The two problems were about to run into each other.

“Looks like. Just what I need. Hopped up junkies who think they're vampires. Stephanie Meyer has a lot to answer for.”

“Do you want me to tag along for the ride? I could hold your gun?”

“Stiles...”

It had been a long shot. Stiles needed to be doing something. He couldn't just sit around, waiting for the phone call to tell him they were all dead. He hugged his father good bye and watched him pull away. The Argents had been smart enough to rob a blood bank far away from where they were planning on luring out Gerard. It meant his Dad would be out of harms way for the rest of the night. Thank God.

His room was dark. He was alone. He was useless. He couldn't fight, he wasn't a wolf. He couldn't go to a crime scene, he wasn't a cop. He wasn't anything.

He realised he was staring at his wardrobe.

He wasn't anything but he could be.

He rose. The walk seemed to play out in slow motion, stripping off his red hoody as he went. The doors fell open at his merest touch. It still lay at the bottom, crumpled and forgotten. The white fabric glowed gently. Picking it up by the shoulders he crossed over to the mirror. Closing his eyes again, he slipped his arms into the white sleeves. It felt cool against his skin. Alive.

This time he did not hesitate to open his eyes and look up.

At first all he saw was himself, in his room, staring at his own reflection. Then the room about him began to fall away into darkness. His reflection falls to the ground and Stiles watches how he will die.

The sight stops his heart for a second. But it's not over. The image in the mirror melts away again.

Behind him now stand a thousand people, dressed in white. One steps up beside him. He tries to turn to look, but only the reflection moves.

Lydia stands in his place, her hands drip with blood. She is crying and laughing. Screaming and smiling.

He is himself again, but now stands in the woods, his coat is the colour of fresh blood. His reflection puts up the hood and his face is shrouded in darkness as deep as the universe. His mirror self steps backwards, disappearing into the woods. Allison comes into view, dragged by a figure he does not recognise. Eyes red. An alpha.

Stiles watched. He saw now, this evening, as it was going to play out. In an instant he saw every claw stroke, every punch and kick, every gun shot. He knew what was going to happen. He knew what he needed to do as easily as he knew he had to keep breathing. He knew what would happen if he didn't.

“Oh crap.”


	19. Little Red, dressed in White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles can see the future laid out before him. He has to change it but what can he do before it's too late?

This was bad. This was very, very bad. On a scale of one to... oh who freaking cares! It's really bad!

Stiles was running across town. He didn't even know why. He'd just leapt out of his second floor window, sprinted past his perfectly good jeep and started running. That was what he needed to do. Time fragmented before him. A swirling mass of coulds, mights and musts. He came to the junction and didn't even think, just let his feet take him left when he would have gone right.

He didn't even see the car until he heard the squeal of breaks, but he'd already braced himself. His body rolled onto the bonnet and then off again harmlessly.

“Oh my god, I didn't... Stiles?”

Stiles looked up to see Chris Argent getting out of the car looking at him, concern changing to anger.

“Stiles! I could have killed you? Were you even looking where you're going? I nearly hit you.”

“You did hit me,” Stiles said, distracted. Mr Argent was calm. Too calm.

Stiles pushed past him and walked round the car. Two hunters he'd seen out with the other Argents were sat on the back seat and another car had pulled up a little way down the road. They were planning a big operation. Without asking, Stiles opened the trunk to find the weapons laid out ready. Assault rifles, machine guns, cross bows. Squatting in the centre was a white cooler with a red cross painted on the side. He flipped the top off.

The bags of blood looked black in the street light.

“I still can't believe you robbed a bank and all you got was blood. I think you guys got short changed.”

Chris pulled him backwards and closed up the trunk before anyone could see.

“You do realise my Dad is out looking for you guys.” Stiles continued. “I hope you're better at covering your tracks when committing larceny than you are when you're tracking down werewolves because if they find that arsenal in your trunk you are in serious trouble buddy.”

“What's that even mean? Covering out tracks.” Chris put his hands on his hips, making a point of showing the handgun strapped to his waist.

“Your family kills a dozen innocent werewolves and the White Order is knocking on your door. Could have handled that one a bit better.”

“That's our business,” Chris snapped. “We got ourselves into this, we'll get ourselves out of it. When did you get to be an expert on the White Order anyway?”

Stiles gave the lapels of his coat a quick tug. For the first time Mr Argent took in the fact that a floor length white coat was not part of his usual ensemble.

“What are you doing wearing that? Oh no. You have got to be kidding me. You?”

“Hey, do you need to look that shocked?”

“Only because I can't looked any more shocked. They let you, Stiles Stilinski, into the White Order?”

It was the look of disbelief that really offended. Stiles pulled himself up tall, brushing out the imaginary creases of his new get up.

“Yes. What of it?”

Chris Argent shook his head.

“Well, you can tell your fellow council members that we have the situation under total control.”

“By breaking the law for a half formed scheme your not even sure is going to work. Great job.”

“Half formed? What do you even know about it?”

“What do I know?” Stiles asked. “I know that you have a vague idea that your dear old Dad is holed up somewhere with a hankering for some good ol' O neg. You have no idea why or what he wants it for, but you're just going to try and drag him out anyhow. It took us weeks to work out how to bring Jackson back and you think, what? That you'll turn up and be able to take him down like that.”

The hunter pulled himself up, emphasising his stature.

“I have no qualms about killing my own father if that's what you mean.”

“Cold, but not the issue. It's not that you won't, it's that you don't know how to. You're planning on going up to the corner of West Grove Way and Riverside Lane, then head to where you found all those hobo corpses you hid the other week. It's about 4 miles off the main road. You'll open up the blood, spread it around and wait. Do you know what will happen then, Chris? Do you mind if I call you Chris? Do you know? I'll tell you. It'll work. Gerard will come in his full, terrifying scaly glory and first he'll kill Tweedle Dee in there. The rest of you will proceed to pump out every bullet, arrow, blade and dart you have into that big bastard's hide and it will do precisely nothing, if not less. Then dear daddy will kill Tweedle Dum and the rest of the tea party in that minivan over there, then he'll turn on you. And do you know what happens then? Because this is my favourite part. He flays you alive. Strip by agonising strip, and makes you watch while he eats your own skin. Do you know how long it takes to die that way? A really freaking long time.”

Chris Argent said nothing. Stiles did not at any point let on how he knew all those things, because he had absolutely no idea. He just knew it was true.

“Do you have a better idea?” Mr Argent said eventually. “You were the ones who gave us the dead line of tonight before you... before you do what exactly?” Chris crossed his arms. “Take away our power? We don't even have a power. The whole point of the Argents secession was that we didn't have any of the council given powers any more. What is it that you could possibly take from us? Why don't we just walk away and leave you to do your worst?”

Stiles looked at him. Argent had realised that he was talking to a teenage kid with ADHD. He couldn't see the Council member he now was. He felt the twist in his guts, knowing how this would end because he'd decided to put on a coat. It was his responsibility now to do the right thing, no matter how sick it made him feel.

“Hopefully you won't find out. But right now you need to worry about Allison.”

“Allison?”

“The alphas took her.”

His entire demeanour changed. Chris grabbed Stiles and shook him.

“What? Why?”

Stiles didn't even try to fight back

“The alphas want Derek, the easiest way to do that is through Scott. They knew you would be off trying to kill Gerard, so it would take a while to realise Allison was missing. You wouldn't interfere.”

“Where are they! Where the hell are they?”

Stiles told him what he knew about Derek's plans to follow Erika's trail. He'd barely finished when Chris threw him off, jumped in the driver's seat and slammed down the gas.

He stood, watching the tail lights disappearing off into the night. Left on the sidelines without a thought again. Crossing over to the side of the road he sat down on the sidewalk and waited. It made his fingers itch, sitting doing nothing while a few miles away his friends would be edging nearer and nearer to the alpha pack. But his place wasn't there. A few minutes later his ride showed up.

He had to remind himself that it wasn't his mother sitting in the drivers seat of his Jeep. The car had been hers before she died. They'd used to use it to go off-roading. He'd make her take all the bumps too fast and bounce them around in the back. It was probably the cause of the screwy suspension the Jeep suffered from now.

“Hop in,” said the woman in white.

He didn't even ask how she'd managed to get his keys. He paused on the curbside.

“You knew I'd put this coat on, didn't you.”

She looked up at the sky and shook her head.

“No. Not officially. I didn't See it. But in the normal, non magic sense, I knew. You have too much of your mother in you not to. Regretting it?”

Stiles couldn't look her in the eye. “It's already 9. They've only got three hours until the deadline. I'm still new to all this. I can't see, not for certain. Do they make it? Is Allison alright?”

“It isn't fixed yet. There are still a hundred ways tonight could go. In some everything is sun shine and lollipops. In others...”

She trailed off. He'd seen the others. He'd seen them all.

“And if they don't make it? If midnight comes and Gerard is still alive?”

“Then we do our job.”

Her voice was glass. Stiles looked at her and had never seen anyone look less like his mother.

“In that case we better get our asses in position and make sure that Gerard is a corpse by midnight. Shift over. My car. I drive.”

“But you don't know where we're going,” she objected.

“Yes. I do.”

She grinned and jumped across to the other seat. It took a few goes for him to close the door, the tails of his coat getting trapped. That would take some getting used to.

“Dang coat,” Stiles muttered as he restarted the engine.

“You'll work it out. Besides. White suits you, Little Red.”

Stiles shook his head and drove off in the opposite direction to where the Argents had just gone. It was time to go back to the graveyard.


	20. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was the hardest part for Stiles. Standing back and watching, knowing what it was that had to be done.

 Whilst the coat of the White Order might embue the wearer with mystic visions of the future and knowledge of how to shape the world to their will it was not very good at keeping a body warm.

“How are you not freezing your ass off?” Stiles said through chattering teeth.

“Because I've done this before. Many, many times. One of the useful things about foresight is that you get to know in advance if you're going to be spending all night standing in a graveyard waiting for two rival packs of werewolves to show up. That's why I put my long johns on this morning.”

She was entirely too smug.

“You couldn't have told me that useful nugget of information, prospector?”

“Nope. The lesson taken from adversity is all the more potent for the struggle undergone in learning it,” she quoted.

“You sound like a bad infomertial for a self help DVD.”

Stiles was glad that the woman had pulled up her hood. She was the woman in white again. Not the woman with his mother's face, his aunt. This day was stressful enough without having to worry about what this woman was to him.

He checked his watch. 11:27pm. Come on! Where are you guys? It had been hours since they'd first run off after the alpha pack. Even though he hadn't been there he'd seen flashes of them being chased through the woods, trying to find better ground where they had the advantage, the hunters finding them, trying to work out friend from foe.

It wasn't long after that he heard the first screams. Both of them snapped to attention, zeroing in on the noise as he saw a figure burst through the tree line. It was too far and too dark to see make out a face. A woman. Dark haired. It must be Allison. Another body, big and full of fury came out of the tree line and tackled her to the ground. Boyd.

“The moon!” Stiles said. Above them it beat down. Full and ominous. “He doesn't have an anchor, does he? He could kill her.”

Taking a step forward to run to his friend's aid, his arm caught as the woman grabbed it.

“Not yet.”

He shook her off but made no move forward, instead pulling him gently back into line beside her.

“How do you stand this?” he asked. “Just standing here, waiting. Seeing people get hurt and not doing anything.” It was practically killing him. We wanted to punch something, or throw something or _do_ something. Anything!

“Practice,” she said. “Boyd won't kill her when he's been told not to by his alpha, even if it is a full moon. He'll have been told to protect her. For now we just have to wait. And then...”

Stiles knew what happened then, what he had to do when the time came. His whole body was screaming at him to run, screw the consequences, but he knew what happened if he did that too. He knew how many more people would have to die that night if he couldn't man up and do the task he gave himself when he put on this damned white coat.

He was forced to watch and wait for his hideous task as the graveyard filled with manic bodies. Werewolves, hunters, friends, enemies and strangers. All rushed in. He could make out the alphas easily. There were five he could see, six if you counted Boyd. 

Scott and Isaac had teamed up and were taking down an alpha they'd managed to get away from the main body. They slashed out at the alphas legs, taking him out of the fight without killing him. Sticking to the tree line, Stiles could make out at least five hunters trying to shoot down the alphas, keeping them at bay with arrows and bullets. Chris Argent was being born down on by a pair of alphas circling each other. His eyes darted everywhere, looking for his daughter. He was covered in blood. Too much blood, an entire coolers worth. In the centre of the fray was a huge wolfed out alpha, tearing at anything that got in its way. Peter.

Erika wasn't trying to take anyone out, but trying to clear a path towards Boyd and Allison. She was in perfect control, despite the full moon. Something was giving her utter clarity of thought. Boyd on the other hand was howling. He had Alison bound on the floor. He was obviously struggling against the moon, every instinct telling him to rend and tear at the helpless woman while his alpha's orders held him back. 

Stiles felt his stomach fill with lead as he realised that Derek had not emerged from the trees.

“Patience,” said the woman beside him.

Erika had managed to make it past the main fight to where Boyd was standing over Alison. Her leg was damaged, she was limping, he'd tear her apart. But he didn't. He saw her and it seemed to calm him.

“Don't do this Boyd.” She was close enough to hear over the carnage. “Don't do this baby, please.”

Boyd shook his head, instinct fighting instinct. Erika wore her human face, the pain stripping away her ability to shift.

“Please. I love you. Remember me. Remember what we had.” Erika's legs gave way beneath her but still she was dragging herself forward with her hands. Every pull made her sob in agony. “Please. Please come back to me. You don't want to do this. Your not one of them. Your not even Derek's. Your mine and I'm yours if you just come back. Come back. Please come back to me.”

Her arms gave way as she couldn't even crawl any more.

“Eri... ka?”

Boyd's face slowly turned back to human again. He blinked, then jumped back from Alison, remembering what he'd done. Then he saw Erika and nothing else existed.

“Erika!”

He ran towards her and scooped her up in his arms.

“Erika, I'm here. I'm yours, I'm yours. Only yours.”

She laughed weakly.

“I knew you'd come back baby, I knew you would. Now get the bastards that did this to me.”

Her head lolled to one side as she passed out. Boyd kissed her, once on the lips, once on her forehead, then lay her down carefully. His eyes snapped up, golden once more, and he howled, leaping forward at the alphas.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles took a step back in his mind and looked at the web of people below him, trying to find the pattern. There were black ribbons of aggression everywhere, dark emptinesses in the gloom. Two red lines ran between Scott and Allison, Boyd and Erika, stronger than Stiles had ever seen and woven through everything were burning chains of gold linking the two packs to their own. The Beacon Hills pack was growing stronger, each second the links got brighter until they nearly blinded Stiles and he had to snap his focus back to the real world.

The tide had turned. With the hunter's help the alphas were out numbered and out gunned. Within minutes the Argents and teenage werewolves had the few remaining alphas surrounded. They postured and hissed but made no attack. They knew defeat when they saw it.

“Werewolves teaming up with hunters,” one of them spat. “It's disgusting. How could you be such traitors to your own kind.”

“If you didn't want me getting involved then you shouldn't have kidnapped my only reason for living,” said Chris Argent as he pulled away from the group and started to run over to his daughter.

“So what now?” Scott said. He was adrenalin drunk. “Do we send you home so you can come back again? Or do we just kill you right here, right now.”

“Ha!” said an alpha. “You haven't got the stomach for it, cub.”

“No,” Isaac said, flexing his claws. “We do. We just choose not to. We don't need blood to feel like we're all powerful. We just need to make you squirm.”

The alphas didn't have a retort to that. They were all staring dumbfounded over Scott's shoulder, up towards the graveyard proper.

Scott turned to see a woman in a white hooded coat holding Chris Argent's hands behind his back. The hunter struggled and pitched but she remained where she was, solid as iron. The alphas knew better than to meddle in the affairs of the Weiss Rat. They withdrew, their whole stance submissive. 

The chimes of midnight began to sound out over the graveyard.

“Family Argent,” said the woman in white. Her voice carried across the night. “You have failed to achieve the task that was set of you. Your patriarch Gerard Argent still roams free. You must now pay the penalty that was set of you. The gift that was afforded to you by the council will now be removed.”

“Gift, what gift? The council never gave us anything,” Chris spat bitterly. “You left us out because we didn't want to be slaves to the Council like your precious Sentinels.”

“The Council gave you the gift of legacy. Allowing you to pass down your knowledge through your family. That gift of legacy will now be revoked.”

“What are you...” Chris started before his eyes went wide with realisation. “No. You can't... she's only a kid, I won't let you!” Chris Argent screamed, struggling with renewed effort. “Scott, get Allison. Get her out of here now!”

“It's okay Mr Argent. Stiles is helping her.”

In all the furore no one had noticed Stiles walk over to help us Allison. They were friends. Why would anyone worry about Stiles helping up Allison?

It took them a moment to see the knife he held to her throat.

Mr Argent went limp in the woman's arms.

“Stiles what are you doing? Scott, make him stop.”

Scott looked up to see his best friend holding the woman he loved in a headlock.

“Stiles, what's going on?” He didn't understand. Thank god.

“The gift of legacy lies with your children.” The woman in white's voice fell like tombstones. “Your legacy dies with your children.”

“I'm sorry,” Stiles said. “I don't have a choice.” He didn't know if he was talking to Allison, Scott or Mr Argent.

“Yes! Yes you do!” screamed Chris Argent.

“I have to do this,” said Stiles. The knife was slipping in his hand from the sweat. He tightened his grip.

“Stiles, let Allison go. You're scaring her,” said Scott.

“Don't you get it! He's with her,” said Mr Argent, trying to headbutt the woman who held him fast. “He's going to kill Allison. He's going to end the Argent family line!”

“What? Why?”

Stiles closed his eyes. He saw them again, the bodies piling high, torn to unrecognisable scraps of flesh. His voice was shaking when he spoke.

“Because otherwise everybody dies.”

“What? That doesn't make sense. You don't know that.” Scott always had been clueless.

“Yes,” said Stiles, “I do.”

With a single movement Stiles slashed across Allison's throat. He lowered her to the ground, cushioning her final moments as she went limp in his arms. When he stood up again the sleeve of his snow white coat was drenched red in blood.


	21. Caught in a Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driven mad by the grief, Scott chases Stiles into the woods. Unless he wants his best friend to tear him limb from limb Stiles needs a plan, fast.

 Scott's cry ripped through the silence. Chris Argent's scream joined him. 

Allison's father surged forward with rage, finally wrenching free of the woman's grasp. She reached out to hold him back but he flung her away from him. She landed hard against a gravestone, her head cracking audibly. She didn't get up again afterwards.

“Allison!” Scott's yell strangled as he shifted. His anchor was gone. He couldn't control himself any more and he was coming towards Stiles.

Who should really be running now.

Stiles sprinted. Scott was faster. He quickly closed the distance between them. An alpha came sideways out of nowhere, wrestling Scott to the ground but was thrown off in a few moments. It had bought Stiles enough time to cover more ground but Scott was still there. Gaining, gaining, nearly there...

Stiles could hear Scott, his best friend, inches behind him ready to rip into him. He just needed a few more seconds, that was all. He dodged out sideways as a bullet zipped past his ear. Chris Argent emptied the clip at him but none hit home. Instead Scott whimpered and fell. Daring a look back, Stiles saw Scott stagger, hand to his shoulder. One of the bullets must have clipped him. Instinct told him to go back and help, but Scott looked up. His eyes were fires of yellow.

Faster. He should be running faster.

Lacrosse had given him reasonable stamina, but his chest was still raw with exertion. His legs burned from running. He jumped out sideways, skipping over a tree root as he broke into the woods. He heard Scott fall over it a few seconds later. Still too close. Was there enough time before-

The screech filled the air. Stiles fell to his knees, clasping his hands over his ears. It felt like his whole skull was vibrating from the sound. He wasn't the only one. The werewolves were writhing in agony from it. With his inferior human hearing it took him less time to recover and soon he was on his feet.

The shadow swept over him and he looked up to see what had made the noise. At first he thought it was a dragon, and he couldn't help but think how cool that was. Then he saw that its body was more human like than beast. In shape at least. It was black, covered in scales, with two huge bat wings stretching out above it. 

Gerard.

It rose up and screamed again but this time Stiles was ready. He clamped his hands over his ears and started to run, leaving his best friend writhing in agony while a demon advanced towards him.

His vision was blurred. Even though he knew no one would be following him now he had to run. What had he done? He'd just left Scott at the mercy of that thing that had once been Gerard Argent. Scott may want to kill him but Stiles was still his friend. He always would be.

Blindly running through the woods his foot struck against something. He fell, rolling down the hill, every rock and twig flagellating him in punishment. By the time he hit against the tree, stopping his uncontrolled tumble, he'd built up a speed. He felt a rib crack.

For a second he lay dazed. He'd hit his head as he rolled. He'd hit everything. His vision was pulsing as he looked down the hill. He heard as if through water, muffled and distorted. Through the haze he managed to realise he wasn't alone. Ahead in a clearing he could see a mass of writhing flesh. Something was caught in a net. Like the stag, the one that had licked his hand before he'd first met the woman in white. Before all of this had begun.

But this wasn't a stag. It was a person. Spikes of gold flashed around the bound figure as Stiles struggled to control his own eyes, vision flicking between seeing and Seeing. He blinked. His head hurt. He couldn't see straight. There were two people. Then only one. Then a dozen. They flickered and shifted. A vision of red and blue flashing lights hovered for a second but as he tried to fixate on them they disappeared. His mind was drifting on the ebb of time. He needed to focus. He had to stay here. Now.

“Looky what we have here.” The voice swam up from a little way apart from the net. “The poor little cub thinks he's a big bad alpha. Ha! You couldn't even keep out of a silly little net.”

It was a women talking. Her head rolled back as she bathed in the light of the full moon. She slowly stepped forward, savouring each step. She cocked her ear out towards the graveyard.

“Do you hear that? Do you? That is the sound of your little pack begin torn limb from limb.”

She whispered the words like a lover's sigh. She was completely drowning in the ecstasy of it. The figure in the net just grunted. Who was that? Stiles wobbled to his feet.

“You may have brought the hunters in on your side, but you won't get away with that here. You're caught in one of their nets. How's that for irony! Can you feel it burning at your skin? Soon everyone you know will be dead. Again. And it will just be you and me. No more Sentinels to hide behind. No more hunters. Just me as I watch the life drain out of the last of the Hales.”

Stiles blinked hard and focused. Derek snapped into clarity. His skin was crossed with the burns from the wolf's bane rope. He was struggling but his strength was being sapped, slowly ebbing as his body tried to keep healing the scars that traced his skin.

“Why don't you let me out of this net then? We can fight like we were meant to. Claw to claw.”

His teeth didn't unclench as he forced out every word.

The other alpha laughed.

“Are you kidding me? No. I don't have this insane macho need to prove myself like the rest of you do. I don't care how you die. As long as I'm the one _making_ you die.” Her hand moved to her hip. “Didn't anyone ever tell you not to bring claws to a gun fight?”

Stiles watched as she raised the gun, levelling it at Derek. He saw the air shiver, tracing out the bullet's path, watching Derek's body tumble backwards as it buried into his chest. She'll let free a few more for good measure. Into his brain.

“Actually they did.” Bravado to the end, that was Derek.

“Should have listened.”

Stiles was already running. He heard the shot as he slammed into Derek's body to push him out the way. The heat blossomed from his shoulder. He screamed but couldn't work out where the pain was from. The bullet. He wasn't quite quick enough. It hit him instead. There wasn't much adrenalin left in his body to dull the pain.

“Oh come on?” The mad alpha was still laughing. “You've got to be kidding me! Another kid to the rescue.”

“Stiles...” Derek could barely speak. “You're bleeding.”

Stiles looked at the arm the bullet had hit. It was the one covered in blood.

“It's not mine,” he said. Taking out his knife again he slashed open the net around Derek. The mad wolf carried on laughing. Stiles tore off the net and dragged Derek away from it before keeling over, clutching his shoulder. Derek caught him. Away from the insidious poison of the net, the werewolf was recovering quickly.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?” Derek said. He was crouching over him protectively.

“You know me. Can't keep my nose out of anything.”

His head was pounding again. His arm felt like it was being snaked with fire. What was in that bullet? The pain doubled as Derek clamped his hand to it. Stiles must've still been hallucinating because it looked liked all of the veins in Derek's hand were bulging black, but when he took his hand away, the pain in Stiles shoulder was gone. Completely gone.

“How did you... was that you?”

“Yeah.” Derek leaned their heads together and held him close.

“Oh. Oh no.” The mad wolf laughed. “This really is too precious. Derek Hale has gone and gotten himself a little boy toy?”

Derek's hands pulled Stiles closer. He could feel the wolf shifting against him, muscle and bone as they slid and reshaped.

“You keep him out of this?”

“Don't think I will. This is much, _much_ more fun. Now I get to watch you weep as you watch him die.”

She drew the gun up again and wrapped her finger round the trigger. Derek tried to shift him out of harms way but Stiles knew that the wolf wouldn't miss this time. She'd hit him in the stomach, then fire another bullet straight into his heart and there was nothing either of them could do but watch.

The wolf staggered sideways, the gun dropping from her hand. She clutched her temple, blood creeping through her fingers.

“Who the hell threw that!” she screamed. “This is my kill!” 

“I did.”

The shout came from to top of the hill where the woman in white stood. Her hood had been thrown back. Her hair was down, blowing in a non existent wind. Her eyes were glowing white.

“You get the hell away from my SON!”

Despite the heat of Derek enveloping him, Stiles' felt himself go cold. It wasn't the woman in white stood there. It wasn't his aunt. Standing in front of him was his mother.

 

 


	22. Arms of an Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saying goodbye is always harder the second time.

 His mother. Returned like an avenging angel. He couldn't remember how to breath.

She swept down the hill towards the alpha. The werewolf turned on her, claws bared and lashing out wildly. His mother caught the wolf's arm, bringing it down hard on her knee. The bone snapped.

“I told you not to come back here,” said his mother. Raising her hand it seemed to glow with the intensity of her eyes. “I warned you what would happen if you did. Now you _dare_ to try and kill MY SON!”

Her hand shot forward, passing straight into the other woman's chest. The were's face contorted with shock and pain. His mother twisted her hand and the wolf fell limp, sliding to the ground with the slackness of death. When his mother withdrew her hand it was pristine as ever.

In the distance Stiles could hear the screeching and howling of his friends as they fought for their lives. Derek still held him, but there was no force to it.

“Mom?”

Stiles felt the tears running unchecked down his face.

“Mom, is that you?”

The twin vortexes of white light from her eyes turned to him. The face softened. It was his mother. His Mom. She was here.

“Stiles.” She took a hesitant step forward, glancing down at the body of the woman she had just killed. “Stiles are you okay?”

He wasn't. He was concussed, broken and torn, totally unsure if any of this was real. But his mother was here. She was with him again. He managed to struggle to his feet, every joint in agony.

Lurching forward a couple of steps his mother ran to meet him. As soon as he felt her arms around him again he began to sob. Huge, ugly, gut wrenching sobs.

“Mom. Mommy. Mom.”

His knees gave way. She fell with him, both of them kneeling together, clinging on.

“Shh. It's okay honey, it's okay. I'm here.”

“But... but how?” he managed to choke out. “How? You're dead, I saw you. I was there when you died. I watched you...”

“I know. I was there. I remember. And you know what I told you.” She drew back from him, taking the sides of his face in her hands, smoothing the hair at his temples. Her eyes still burned but they were hers. “I told you I would always watch over you and I have. I've been watching you and I am so, so proud of you.”

The words caught in his throat. 

“Really?” he asked. “Because I've done some really, really dumb stuff.”

She laughed through her own tears.

“I'll admit, stealing the police van was a pretty dumb idea.”

They both fell onto each other again. Stiles couldn't hold himself up any more and they sank to their knees, but it was fine. He was safe. There may still be half-mad dragon-demon man after him and his best friend might want to tear his intestines out but right here, right now, he was safe.

“I miss you. I miss you so freaking much.” He gripped onto the front of her coat, trying desperately to hold on to her.

“I know. I know you do.” She squeezed him in close before sitting back, taking his hands in hers. “Honey. I can't stay much longer.”

“What? No! I only just got you back, you can't go away again. I...”

“I'm not really here, sweet heart. I can only borrow my sister's body for so long,” she said, stroking across his head. “I can feel her in here starting to wake up.”

“You have a twin sister.” He wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat, trying to collect himself again. “That's weird. Why didn't you tell me Mom? Why didn't you tell me about any of this?”

She smiled at him sadly.

“Because I couldn't. You had to find out on your own if you were to become the man you were meant to be. That you are.”

“But I could have saved you!” he shouted. It hit him then. The anger. Why had she died? Why had she _let_ herself die?

“No. No you couldn't have. I took the White. I saw how I died. I saw my whole life and you know what, I would not have lived a minute of it different. I love you. I love you so much, more than you will ever understand. I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry I won't be there to see you go off to prom or to see you graduate or see the man you become. I have never wanted anything more in my life than to just stay alive for you but I had to die.” 

“Why! Why did you have to die? Why didn't you just let me talk to your family, my family. I don't understand.”

“Death comes to us all Stiles. One day you'll understand. Ahh – ”

She doubled over as if in pain. The light in her eyes dimmed and flickered.

“Mom? Mom what's wrong?”

“She's waking up. I have to go.”

“What? No. No! You have to stay. You can't leave me. You can't go again!”

Her eyes started to droop and she fell backwards. He caught her, cradling him like he was the parent and her the child. Sluggish she raised a hand and brushed his face.

“Sorry for the fleeting visit,” she giggled as she fought to keep her eyes open. The fire was fading.

“But, Mom. No. Mommy. Please. I need you.”

“No,” she soothed, “you don't. You want me, but you don't need me.”

“Yes. Yes I do. I do. I'm just a kid. I need my Mom. You have to stay awake!”

Her body fell limp. Her eyes focused over his shoulder. Her finger raised itself.

“You. I see you.” Stiles turned to see Derek standing behind him. “You're looking remarkably calm for someone who uses anger as an anchor. You be good to my boy. Or I swear I will send you to hell if I have to drag us both in.”

Her hand fell down to her side. 

“Goodbye Stiles,” she whispered. 

And she was gone.

Stiles looked down at the unconscious woman in his arms. He shook her. All he needed to do was wake her back up.

“Mom? Mom? Are you there. Mom? Mommy? Come back. Come back. No...”

He rocked the limp body in his arms over and over. She was gone. She wouldn't be coming back again. It was like loosing her all over again. No, it was worse. For a fleeting second he'd seen her again. The hole, the gaping rent in his life that had been slowly healing over the past two years, was torn open again leaving a raw agonised edge that cut into him every time he moved.

A hand touched his shoulder. Derek. He grabbed at it, pulling himself up, clinging on to Derek. He needed someone. Anyone, as long as they were alive. As long as they weren't going to leave him. He was crying again. There was not a force on this earth that would be able to stop him.

Derek moved his arms around him, running a hand up and down his back. It wasn't a tight embrace, but it was enough. He was saying something. Stiles could feel the words even if his grief stopped him from hearing them. Eventually he managed to stop the tears from wracking his body and stepped back from the other man.

“You'll be alright,” said Derek. “Maybe not for a while but it'll get better.”

Stiles knew he was right. It didn't make the endless emptiness inside him any smaller but Derek was right.

“My head...” came a voice from their feet. “It feels like someone hit it with a rock.”

Stiles froze in Derek's arms. The werewolf tensed, staring at the woman on the floor. She shook her head and got to her feet, dusting herself off.

“Wasn't I somewhere else a minute ago?” 

She rubbed the back of her neck as she took in her surroundings, finally seeing the two boys staring at her. She smiled uneasily.

“Derek, right?”

“Mrs... Mrs Stilinski?” Derek hesitated.

“No.” Her hands were feeling the back of her skull, checking the fingers for blood. “I'm not... sister. Twins. I'm Stiles' aunt. Obviously. It's a long story. Good to finally meet you. After all the... the creepy, stalker like lurking.”

Derek frowned at her.

“But wasn't she... wasn't your Mom just here.”

Stiles couldn't look at either of them. Instead he broke from Derek and walked to where he'd dropped his mother's knife on the ground. It still lay beside the corpse of the alpha female. That his Mom had killed. His dead Mom.

“Oh my god,” said Stiles' aunt. “Janey was here. She was using my body. I can remember now. Sort of. I'm sorry Stiles. I should have-”

“Don't be,” he said, sheathing the knife on his belt. “Why would you be. I got to have my Mom back. If only for a minute. It was worth it.”

If she could tell he didn't meant it she didn't say so.

A shriek ripped through the night. Derek clamped his hands to his ears, falling to his knees at the sound.

“What the hell was that?” his aunt asked. All business again.

“That would be Gerard,” said Stiles.

She grinned.

“Excellent. On your feet Hale. The party's not over yet!”

With a bouncing step she ran back up the hill towards the graveyard. Stiles helped Derek back up off the ground. Derek started to ask a question but Stiles just shook his head. Not now. Derek nodded and the pair ran back up the hill, and back into the fight.


	23. Ascension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle reaches its climax

 By the time they reached the graveyard even Stiles could smell the blood. The two opposing sides gathered around Gerard, working together to take the old man down. Stiles looked, tracking every one, following their paths and the connections between them. Boyd lay motionless to one side. Erika was slumped over him, conscious but not by much. At least three others were dead. Very dead. No one he recognised, he thought with a macabre relief. He caught sight of Peter lying on the ground. Unconscious or dead? He didn't know. The alphas were holding the back lines, scared but not about to jump in to a fight that wasn't their own. The others who were still standing were fanned out around Gerard, bloodied and exhausted, trying to find a weak spot that wasn't there.

“What are you waiting for?” Derek said, shifting into his wolf form.

“I'm trying to see the pattern. It's a Council thing. You jump on in. I hear the carnage is lovely.”

Derek frowned at him but bounded forward, jumping up and grabbing Gerard round the neck, biting down. The monster screamed in anguish and threw him off, but Derek was expecting it and hit the ground in a crouching roll.

“Do you see it?” the woman in white asked.

“I see it.”

And he did. All the actions he needed to take all laid out in a perfect plan.

“Have fun kiddo,” she said. Flicking her hood up again, she stepped back into the shadows.

Stiles sprinted into the action. He dodged around alphas and hunters trying to make his way over to Isaac. Just like a lacrosse game, he told himself. All you need to do is dodge the other players. Ignore the fact you spent most games on the bench.

“Flank his left side!” Stiles screamed at Isaac. Of all the wolves he was the least enamoured by the moon. He looked at Stiles like a stranger. “Trust me!”

Yes. Trust the guy who just slit an innocent girl's throat, he thought, but Isaac nodded and dove off to where Stiles pointed. A few seconds later Isaac saw his chance and dove forward, slashing at Gerard. His claws did nothing but it made the abomination turn long enough for Derek to surge forward and bite hard. He managed to break skin. Black blood oozed from the wound but Gerard hardly seemed to notice. Derek withdrew, his jaws covered in the vile liquid making him gag.

Gerard leapt forward right onto the spot where the alphas had been standing only seconds before. As the monster struggled to its feet it swiped out blindly at the nearest foes catching an alpha in the leg and plunging the pack into the fight.

Not that any of that mattered to Stiles. When Gerard had moved out the way he was directly in Scott's eye line. His best friend looked at him and only saw the person who had murdered the love of his life. Letting out a blood curdling scream, Scott charged at him.

Stiles rolled away, over balancing Scott. He didn't even try to explain. It wouldn't work. Instead he dodged and rolled around Scott before sprinting over to exactly the right place. He cast a quick look round. He could see Chris Argent lying on the ground, clawing himself forward towards a crossbow, unable to move his legs.

He faced Scott.

“Come on!” he yelled. “I killed her! I killed Allison!”

Scott charged again. Stiles waited until the last possible moment to dive out the way. Scott was too committed and carried on going.

Straight into Gerard.

The two collided, a boiling mass of rage and violence. They clawed and scratched at each other, Scott limpeting onto the old man's back, tearing his bat wings to shreds while the monster itself tried to pull him off.

Stiles bit his lip as he watched Scott get flung off, landing with a heavy thump. A pair of alphas regrouped beside Stiles, knowing a good ally when they saw one.

“What the hell is that?” one of the alphas shouted.

“Alpha kanima. Only a shot from the heart, to the heart can kill it” said another.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you can't kill him,” said Stiles. “And neither can I.”

He pelted forward, wrenching the dagger from his belt. It might not be able to kill Gerard, but it would sure as hell slow him down. It was still sticky with blood from when he'd cut Allison's throat. The creature recoiled as Stiles sunk the blade into its belly. It flicked out with a hand and sent Stiles staggering backwards. 

Looking up all he saw was Chris Argent with a cross bow trained on his heart. The man must have been hit with kanima venom, he was barely able to move. The point of the bolt wove backwards and forwards, always pointing at Stiles.

“You killed her... you killed my Allison...”

“Mr Argent you have to listen to me,” Stiles said slowly.

“She was all I had left... and you killed her.”

“Mr Argent. Only you can take down Gerard. Only someone who has a connection with a kanima can destroy them. You're his son, there's no stronger connection.”

“You want... you want me to kill my father?” His teeth gleamed white as he laughed. “Why would I bother when I can kill you?”

“Because Gerard will kill hundreds of people if you don't.”

“You killed someone. The only person I care about! Who gives a damn about anyone else.”

Stiles watched as Argent pulled the trigger and the bolt flew at him. He closed his eyes against it, waiting for the pain. It came from his right, knocking him sideways out of the way. If his rib hadn't been broken before, it was now and probably puncturing his lung. The kanima screamed again, this time in pain as the bolt struck it, delivering a debilitating but not deadly wound.

Stiles opened his eyes to see Derek sprawled across him. Their faces were inches apart. It was a good thing Derek was wearing his wolf face or Stiles might have been unable to resist.

“I guess this makes us even?” Derek growled.

“For this one,” Stiles shot back.

Derek glowered at him before jumping off and running once more into the fray. Stiles could have sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

Stiles struggled to his feet. That was when he saw Scott.

His friend couldn't even form words, just lunged forward at him. Stiles couldn't roll out the way this time. Scott was expecting it. He felt Scott's claws dig into his shoulders. There was nothing left to do. Nothing left to say except one last thing.

“ALLISON! NOW!”

Scott started, following Stiles' eye line to where the woman in white held up a very much alive Allison, together pointing the alpha's gun at Gerard. They watched as Allison breathed in deeply and pulled back the trigger, her body convulsing from the recoil her body couldn't absorb.

The bullet hit Gerard between the eyes. He took one step back and then fell, scales melting away, tattered wings falling off like a children's costume until all that was left was a dead old man.

Stiles could hear the crunching of Scott's face returning to normal.

“Allison... Allison is alive.”

“You really think I could kill Allison?” asked Stiles. Scott wasn't listening. Every limb was covered in scratches and scars. Too many to heal. He limped forward towards where Allison was propped up by the woman in white, leaning forward as convulsions brought forward wave after wave of green vomit.

Stiles struggled to his own feet. He was in agony but his job wasn't over yet. He stood over the body of a naked, dead, old guy. His mother's knife was still buried to the hilt in his chest. Placing a foot on the corpse, he grabbed the handle and yanked. Reaching back, he put up the hood of his robe.

The words flowed into him, not spoken by him but a thousand generations of his people.

“Gerard Argent. You have been found guilty of breaking the treaty of the White Order, violating the terms of your family and station and the murder of countless innocents. Your punishment was death. The sentence was carried out by the leader of your family, Allison Argent. May your soul find solace in the dark. Death equals all. You son of a bitch.”

That last bit was just for him.

_Death equals all._ It doesn't matter whether you're the leader of all the world's hunters, or the victim of a school prank gone bad, or a simple mechanic trying to do his job. In the end, we're all just dead men.

He put his hood back down, cleaned his blade on the grass and walked over to where Chris Argent lay paralysed. His eyes were flickering from Stiles, to where his daughter was being embraced by a shaken Scott, and back to Stiles.

“Midnight... you said we had until midnight. The Council never breaks its word.”

“It's only 10:20 in Hawaii,” said the woman in white. “I never said where it had to be midnight.”

Stiles smiled as he bent down to pick up the cross bow by Chris Argent, slotting a bolt into place.

“Wh... wh....” Allison tried to choke out between gobs of vomit.

“Is she poisoned?” Scott asked. 

“Yes,” said Stiles bluntly. He held up the knife. “This little baby is covered in all sorts of nasty stuff. One little nick and it would kill _you_ stone dead. A human it just knocks out and leaves you feeling a little, well green.”

Allison spewed forth another wave of luminous green to emphases his point. 

“She'll be fine,” the woman in white said, laying a hand on Scott's shoulder. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed as the power of the woman washed over him. “All she'll have is an interesting scar left to show for it.”

There wasn't a lot of blood on her neck. He'd not cut her very deep, just enough to break the skin. It was obvious if you looked closely but Stiles had relied on everyone being to busy to question.

“But the blood? You're covered in blood, Stiles. It's human. I can smell it.”

It was Allison that answered that question. Control was slowly coming back to her fingers as she scraped them on the ground where an empty blood bag lay torn open.

“Swiped it off the Argent's. Didn't even realise I had it in my hand until I got here. Does that happen a lot?” he asked, turning to the woman in white. 

“A fair few times, especially at the beginning,” she said. “Like with that crossbow you're holding.”

Even as he looked down at it in surprise he was lifting it up. Stiles didn't aim as he fired the bolt. It hit the alpha, that had just been about to decapitate Erika, in the shoulder blade. He howled and collapsed forward, clutching the wound.

“Now, now, now boys. That's not very sporting.”

“And who are you little boy,” one said as it wrenched the bolt out of its pack mate. “They challenged us to a duel. It's within our rights to fight them.”

“Within your rights?” He pulled himself up tall, trying to feel a little more impressive even though everything hurt and his legs were rapidly turning to jello. “Do you know who I am?”

“Not a clue, punk.”

“I know it's got a bit messed up but perhaps you better look at what I'm wearing. Yeah. This little punk kid sits on the Council. This little boy is the son of Jane Stilinski, or Roberts or Janella Weiss or whatever the hell you know her as. That name you recognise, huh. This place, this is my home and I am not going anywhere. These people you are trying to kill they are my friends. I may not be a wolf, but I am part of this pack and I will fight to the death for it. I am the Weiss Rat but I am also Stiles Stilinski. You lost once and were ordered not to come back. You broke that order. You have one last chance. Leave here and never come back, because if I ever hear of you even being in this state again-”

The gun shot resounded. An alpha slumped to the ground with a bullet hole in its temple. He'd been advancing towards where Peter lay knocked out on the ground, no doubt determined to fill some old vendetta.

The woman in white lowered the gun.

“Get out of here. Now.” Stiles commanded.

The alphas turned tail and ran. Not one looked back.

Stiles could feel the power of the White Order ebbing out of him as his job was done. He raised a hand to his ribs. The pain. Oh god, it hurt to breath. And his head. It pounded. It was like his brain wanted to escape his skull. He wanted to split his head open, let it out even if it killed him, as long as it would just stop the pounding. His vision was going. He couldn't hear. Someone said his name. Someone was catching him as his legs gave out. All he saw was the blurred lines of Derek's face as the blackness closed in on him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone said I should probably put a Major Character death tag on this work. Now you know why I didn't.


	24. It Is What It Is

 The slow beep of the machines around him greeted Stiles as he woke. They comforted him. No high pitched wails, no screams, just the slow steady bleeping of the hospital room around him.

When he opened his eyes he realised it was night. Outside his door the hallway lights glowed fluorescent but here in his private room someone had dimmed them. The only other light came from the street outside. He could tell some time had passed, possibly days. His body still ached but the pain had lost its sharpness. His cuts had been cleaned and bound. The pounding in his head was gone. Trying to sit up only made him collapse back down in pain, pulling at the cannula in the back of his hand. Touching his shoulders he saw the stitches that closed the gunshot wound. That would leave a pretty big scar. Awesome.

“Welcome back, Little Red.”

Stiles jerked, the pain stabbing through his body. He knew the voice but he couldn't see the woman in white anywhere. Usually she was glowing, even in the dimmest light.

“I wouldn't do that,” she said. Stepping forward into the light, Stiles saw she wasn't wearing her white coat, dressed in ordinary clothes instead. Her hair was scraped back into a ponytail and her face was hard. Unfamiliar.

“What happened? How did I get here?”

His voice was sore and sounded wrong in his throat, like he hadn't used it in days. Which, he realised, he probably hadn't.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“Do you remember the graveyard? You must have hit your head pretty hard at some point. You were suffering from a severe concussion. That, combined with the blood loss from the gunshot wound left you in a pretty bad state. You passed out. Derek brought you in with one of the hunters. I called in the Sentinels to help out with everyone else.”

“Why not call them earlier?”

“Who Dr Deaton and Miss Morelle? They're not fighters Stiles. Neither are we which is why you are currently in a hospital room and your wolf pack friends are not. We're chess masters, moving pieces about the board. Perhaps this little incident will help you learn where your strengths lie.”

Stiles was in no mood to be lectured to by this woman. He just wanted to sleep, but he'd been asleep for so long already.

“How long?” he wondered.

“About three days.”

“Three days?” he sat up, remembered the pain and flumped back down again.

“Yes. You've been awake on and off in that time but you were on so many painkillers I'd be surprised if you remembered anything more than a dozen pink elephants dancing The Nutcracker in front of you. They've been keeping you dosed up until the worst was over and are now letting you wake up to the full glory of your agonising pain.”

Stiles could still feel the drugs in his system. He felt warm, the kind of warm that went right through your bones into your soul. It was like he was sitting on a pink cloud and even though it hurt, wasn't the world a fun place to be.

“My Dad. He must be going mad? Where is he?”

“At home. Mrs McCall made him go. The rest of the crew of unusual suspects have been looking after you in shifts. I think they're worried that the alphas are going to try and finish you off in your sleep. No chance of that though. They know they're on their final strike. Take out a Council man and we'd obliterate them completely.”

She spoke with utter truth. By putting on that white coat he was now protected by the full weight of an ancient power. He thought of his friends watching over him. Scott must have forgiven him. Stiles couldn't shake the memory of his face as the blade had slid along Allison's throat.

“Allison? Is she...”

“She's fine. Still spitting green and feeling like she's suffering from the queen of all hangovers but alive, thanks to your quick thinking. Stealing the blood? Inspired! I knew she wasn't going to die, that's why I only brought the white coat, but I couldn't quite see why not. I don't like to look to deep on these things. Spoils the surprise.”

“Only brought the white?”

“We're called the White Order because we mostly wear white, but it's not always practical, as you have evidently shown. I don't think anyone in history has managed to completely trash their coat in quite such a short time as you have.” 

She stepped forward and went to a duffel bag someone had left at the end of his bed. Out of it she unfurled what had once been a perfect, white coat and was now a mess of mud and blood, covered with gashes.

“What was it? 4 hours. We'll send you out another. Oh, by the way the official story is you were trespassing on Derek's property while he was out hunting. You ran away, because you were drunk, and then fell down a ravine. Your father seemed to be more pissed off at you than him.”

Stiles pulled a face. Figures. His Dad never sided with him in stuff like this. Usually with good reason, but still. She took a step towards him placing her hands on the edge of his bed.

“You did good my boy. You'll make a fine Council man. Regretting it yet?”

Stiles shook his head. She smiled and once more he saw his mother. Had that been a dream? No. He remembered it too clearly. If nothing else had come from that night, he'd talked to his Mom one last time.

“You miss her too, don't you?” he asked.

The woman didn't need to ask who he was talking about. She sat back down, her hand hovering a second at the hem of her shirt.

“I always wondered why she left, why she didn't say anything. I think I understand now. I can't remember her... possessing me I suppose it was. I knew my sister better than anyone alive when we were growing up. We might look the same but we were very different people, as I can tell you've worked out. We always were. She was always unafraid. Always out there. Maybe if was because I knew I'd have to shoulder the responsibility one day and on some level she knew she'd run. I don't know. This whole... magic thing works in mysterious ways. It doesn't come with a manual I'm afraid. I don't know what she was like as a Mom, but if it was anything like she was as a sister she would have been great.”

“She was.” The tubes on Stiles hand dug into his face when he wiped his eyes.

“Sometimes, God, sometimes I just wanted to kill her. Like when we needed to get a project done for the Council and she'd keep getting distracted by the history of bee farming in Eastern Europe, that actually happened. But she was a good person. The best. Better than me anyway. Only the good die young, hey? She did what was right. That's why she wanted to join the Council. She was never really into it, but she wanted to help people. I couldn't believe it when she ran away. It must be one of about four selfish things she's ever done, and one of the others was kissing Jason Marrasco under the bleachers when she _knew_ Betty Forrester kind of had a crush on him. Hardly a capital offence.”

She paused, looking at Stiles out the corner of her eye.

“You asked me why she never contacted us. About the kidney, try to find a donor.”

She lifted the hem of her shirt, exposing a surgical scar that ran along her back, just above where her kidney would be.

“I started getting sick in the summer of 2008. About the same time as your Mom, right? Heck, we probably started getting sick on the same day. We hunted round the family, did all the tissue matches and I got my transplant in January 2010 off of uncle Philip. I only had a few months more the doctor reckoned.”

“Mom died in March. So... it could have worked. Someone could have saved her.”

“That's what I thought when you first told me how she died. After the other night, though, I could remember what your mother had known that second she put the hood on. There was only one match. We stopped looking as soon as we found Philip, but if there had been two of us then we wouldn't have been able to find another. We would have had to make a choice and I would have made her take it. She was a Mom. I would have convinced her. Someone needed her. She obviously disagreed.”

Stiles was glad of the drugs in his system. He didn't think he could cope with all this right now if it was in the harsh light of unfettered reality.

“So she chose you over herself. Over me. Why?”

His aunt stared at her fingers.

“I wish I could tell you that. Because I'm on the council? Because she could see the hundreds of lives I would save that she wouldn't. Like your friends tonight or the wendigos from Illinois last month or even that guy who I pulled out of the water when I was at Lake Michigan. I wish I could tell you but I can't.”

“So she chose a hundred faceless people over her own son?” It was very noble, but Stiles didn't care. A hundred faceless people could go screw themselves. He wanted his Mom back.

“And one day you might have to do the same. I can tell you this, it wasn't choosing anyone over you. I don't know how but her dying will save you. I'm sorry. I know you don't want to hear that, but she died for you.”

Guilt filtered through his drugged haze, threatening to drown him. He'd always felt like he'd failed his mother. For a few days he'd known that there was no other way. Now he learned that he was the one she had chosen to die for. What was he wishing? That this woman stood before him was dead so that his mother could be back here. That wasn't what his Mom would want him to think. That wasn't who she brought him up to be.

“I have to go,” she said.

Stiles was glad of it. He wanted to sleep. The oblivion of his dreams would keep the world at bay and there would be no agonising over his mother's actions, no wondering what he'd have to do in the name of an ancient order he'd never even heard of three weeks ago. Just him and whatever sunshine and roses his morphine laced imagination brought him.

“Okay. You're 'going' going aren't you.”

The thought made him a little sad. As much as she'd rattled his life Stiles had just discovered he had more of a family than just him and his Dad, and now it was leaving with no trace.

“Yes but I'll be back. One day. And a few more times after that. You'll always be ecstatic to see me.”

She was lying through her teeth. He frowned, realising what it was that bothered him about the way she talked.

“It's really weird when you do that. Talk about the future in absolutes.”

“You'll do it to.”

“See there you go again.”

“Good bye, Stiles.”

“See ya... what even is your name?”

She laughed, suddenly realising she'd never actually said.

“Angela. My name is Angela.”

“Bye then. Aunt Angela.”

She gave his hand a quick rub and went towards the door, opening it just as Derek tried to come in from the other side. He was holding a cup of coffee in his hand with a surprised look on his face. Sidestepping neatly, she backed him against the door, her finger prodding him in the chest.

“I've got my eye on you Hale. You play nice with my nephew or I will come up with new ways for you to define pain. And let him fix you.” She turned back to look at Stiles. “He's good at that.”

She stepped away, flicked up the hood of her sweatshirt and was gone.

Derek stood against the door looking after her before remembering that Stiles was there.

“You're awake.” He was trying to sound nonchalant which only made him seem more awkward.

“Could you hear me down the corridor Mr Wolf? Listening in on my personal conversations.”

“No.” Derek said closing the door. He looked out the little window as if he was checking for enemies. “I could hear you, but I figured it was private. What I overheard sounded pretty heavy.”

“Yeah. It was. The drugs, however, are making everything a lot easier to deal with right now. I am seriously beginning to see the appeal of heroine.”

What would his Dad say if he started chasing the dragon? Ha! That would show him how boring Stiles wasn't. Coming back Stiles realised that Derek was still hovering by the door.

“Should I … tell a nurse or something.”

Stiles shook his head and patted the bed beside him.

“No. I want to talk to you before my mouth is under the control of my brain again.”

Derek still hovered, looking like he was about to run.

“Shouldn't that be the other way round? Don't talk until you can control what you say.”

“And where is the fun in that, Derek? That's your problem, you never just... talk.”

The werewolf took one last, longing look at the door and crossed over to where Stiles was lying. After a moment staring at the edge, Derek sat down, both hands clamped firmly around the cup.

“It was my turn to watch. Scott, Isaac and Erika take the other times, when your Dad's not here. Boyd is still on probation and Alison stopped by once or twice. She asked us to say that so you know that she doesn't blame you. She's grateful you didn't kill her, but I don't think she's going to talk to you until the green goes away.”

Stiles laughed until he realised how much it hurt. Derek put a hand gently against Stiles' chest to steady him. 

“You broke a rib. They can't really do anything about that other than just let it heal.”

“Hurts like a mother lover.”

“It will. That is something I do not envy humans for.”

“You are human,” Stiles murmured. “You've just got a furry little problem. So what are you doing here then?”

Derek wouldn't look at Stiles, focusing on his coffee instead.

“It's a school night. It's my fault you're all in this mess.”

“That's not the only reason though, now is it Mr Wolf?”

Derek risked a glimpse up at Stiles through his eyelashes. Stiles must have look a state. He hadn't seen his own reflection, but he could imagine it. Scabs pulled at the skin of his face.

“No. No it's not.”

Well, it's now or never, Stiles thought. Ride on the morphine high like you rode the adrenaline. Say it all before you can realise how stupid you are.

“Derek. I like you. I hate you but I like you. You are a surly, brooding, sac of neuroses who is more messed up than I am but deep down, under all the bad decisions you're an okay guy. Sure you have threatened to kill me and my friends once or a million times. Sure you bit a bunch of messed up teens for your own benefit. Sure, you sided with a megalomaniacal psychotic guy who you already killed once... where was I going with this?”

“You were telling me that I was a good guy.”

Stiles absent mindedly reached for Derek, brushing his fingers against the werewolf's leg.

“Oh yeah. You're a screw up but you... you're alright. And sexy as hell. Dude, do you like, do push ups in your sleep or something.”

Derek smiled. It was the first real smile that Stiles had seen him give since... well, ever.

“Thanks. I think.” He loosened his grip on his coffee, taking a sip.

“This is the point where you tell me what a sexy beast I am.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself.”

Stiles laughed again, stopping himself before his chest burst. He reached out his fingers to Derek. The other man looked at them for a second and took them in his own. His fingers were still warm from the coffee cup.

“What is this Stiles?”

Stiles let the smile roll up his whole face, starting at his chin and ending up somewhere beyond his eyebrows.

“It is what it is. We can work out the rest later. You've got your head stuck in the past and I can see the future, apparently. Maybe we should both just stick to what we have now. For now.”

Derek looked him in the eyes, leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. He tasted bitter and hot. A wave of longing swept over Stiles and he leaned forward into it. The tubes on his hand twisted. Derek's arm brushed against his wounded rib cage. Derek's stubble against his grazed face was agony. He breathed in sharply, holding it until the pain went away again.

“Ow.”

Derek's face was still against his. Stiles felt the breath of his chuckle against his face.

“Perhaps we should save that thought for later then.”

Stiles nodded. He was tired. So very tired. Derek was still holding his hand and kept holding his hand until he was sleeping once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be honest. This is really the end of Woman in White. Chapter 25 is just because I came up 5k words short of my Nanowrimo word target and did what any self respecting fangirl would do and made it up the numbers with porn!


	25. Live in the Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months after the incident in the graveyard Stiles' rib is finally healed. Now he just needs Derek to know.

 “Touch yourself.”

Stiles hand obeyed Derek's command. It was already slick with soap as the hot water ran down his arm. His fingers slid back and forth, back and forth, squeezing just the right amount. He leaned his head against his arm resting against the wall. 

“Not there.”

Stiles knew where Derek wanted him to touch. Again, he obeyed. He leaned back from the wall, his right hand still stroking his cock and his left reaching round. At first he just ran his hand over the cleft in his cheeks, the sensitive bit of skin at the top. They trailed down the crack, toying at his hole in time with the leisurely strokes he gave his swollen cock. 

“Put them in Stiles. You know what I like to watch.”

He pushed forward. There was an all too familiar hint of pain, but he knew how to work his own ass by now. The tiles slid against his back as he writhed against them. The twin sensations of feeling himself front and back was too much. He tried to squirm away from them while still thrusting in. Too intense to endure but too good to stop.

“Deeper.”

Pushing in as far as he could Stiles crooked his finger. He'd learnt where the right spot was in his night time self explorations. He felt the thrill of impending orgasm threatening to overwhelm him. The finger slipped out of himself.

“Did I tell you to take that out?”

“I can't...” Stiles panted through chest binding waves of sensation. “I can't...

“You're not coming already are you? We've hardly even started.”

Instead, Stiles coaxed two fingers into his hole, but only to the knuckle. Trying to relax his muscles was difficult when his dick was telling his entire body to go into shocks was pleasure.

“Slow down. You're going too fast. You know I like it slow.”

He forced himself to stop his hand from moving so quickly. It was like trying to hold back a waterfall. When his hands stopped moving, his hips took up the slack, forcing himself into his hand and then back onto his fingers. Over and over and...

“I'm off to work Stiles.”

His father's voice snapped Stiles out of his fantasy. There was no Derek. He was just another teenage boy, jacking off in a shower.

“See you later Dad.”

In his mind's ear he can hear Derek leaning in. The laugh came from the back of his throat.

“You just can't help yourself can you. You're not even picturing me right now, are you? You're just listening to me, to my voice as you make yourself so hard you think your going to explode from it. In fact, here you come.”

Stiles bit down so hard he thought he might break his teeth as he came. He splattered all over his chest, the water quickly washing away the evidence. His knees buckled as he slumped forward in the cubicle. Even Derek's voice was gone now, leaving him alone to finish washing himself.

It was getting bad. He knew it would. It had been two months since the graveyard. Since he'd been shot, beaten, concussed and finally fainted from blood loss.

Getting out of the shower and looking at himself in the mirror he ran his fingers over the scar on his shoulder. The stitches had been removed but the wound was still angry and red. It hurt to touch it but in that way that made the urge to poke it impossible to resist. It was pretty much the only outward sign left of his run in with the alphas and Gerard besides a few small white scars.

His father seemed pretty okay with Derek, even though he thought it was Derek that had shot him. Of course dear Dad didn't know they'd had some pretty hot and heavy sessions in the boy's locker room. They'd spun a story that managed to make him, the one who had been _shot_ , the bad guy. Somehow he thought any story they could come up with was more plausible than the truth: that Stiles had pushed Derek out the way to save him from the bullet that would kill him.

He'd seen Derek a few times since then. Normally there were other people around. This was a good thing. A few days after he'd left the hospital he and Derek had ended up alone. Things had gotten incredibly sweaty incredibly quickly, which was all fine with Stiles until Derek had brushed his broken rib and he'd been unable to breath from the pain. Every time he saw him, Stiles found it near impossible to keep his hands off Derek, but as soon as Derek put his hands on _him_ he doubled over in agony.

The worst part of it was that it had stopped Derek from even trying to touch him. Now he had no way of telling if Derek still wanted to touch him. They didn't talk about it. Whatever this was, it wasn't something you talked about. It was something they felt welling up inside themselves until they couldn't take it any more. At least it was for Stiles. At first Derek had always stayed close by, even if they couldn't touch. Over the weeks he'd grown more distant and now Stiles hadn't seen him in over a week. Outside of his own vivid imagination, that was. 

Derek was all Stiles thought about when he was pleasuring himself. No one else. He'd tried, but it was always Derek that came back into his mind. Stiles wanted him so badly. The second he'd gotten the okay to drive, he'd gone to the next town and bought enough lube and condoms to keep the entire US army happy for a month. If Derek decided to make another show he wanted to be ready. He'd made sure no one he knew saw him. Not because he was ashamed but because when your father's the Sheriff everyone in town knows who you are and there are some things you do not want passed on to your Dad.

That was two weeks ago. The next time he'd seen Derek he'd tried to corner him for a moment to give some hint. To let him know that injured or not he was still up for it, but Derek had twisted away from him at every turn. The last time he'd been over at pack central he'd casually mentioned that the doctors had said his rib was healed up nicely. Derek didn't even acknowledge that he'd heard. 

God he was going to get hard again already just thinking about Derek.

“Down boy,” he said to his crotch before leaving the bathroom.

What if Derek had turned cold on him, suddenly come to his senses and realised that Stiles was a stupid little sixteen year old. Sure, now he was the member of what he increasingly realised was supernatural royalty, but that didn't seem to help any. Maybe that was the issue. Derek couldn't get over the fact that Stiles was now in the Weiss Rat.

He was so engrossed with thoughts of the man that it took him a moment to realise the Derek standing in the middle of his bedroom was the real one.

They stood staring at each other for a moment. Derek's eyes flicked over Stiles' body as once again he was standing in front of the werewolf wearing nothing but a towel. Stiles couldn't help but look down the other man's body himself. His shirt was clinging to everything. He was wearing those pants, the ones that made his ass look amazing. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“My Dad's out,” Stiles managed when he remembered how to talk.

“I know.”

Then their lips were together. Stubble ground at his skin. Their teeth clicked together, no time wasted on prettiness. It was pure lust that drove them now.

Stiles grabbed at Derek's jacket, wrenching it off his shoulders. He dragged his fingernails down Derek's back, taking fist fulls of shirt to tear that off as well. Derek's hands moved to the knot of Stiles towel, wrenching it open in one move leaving him naked. Pressed up against Derek, Stiles could feel the cold of his belt buckle, the roughness of the denim and the hardness between his legs.

Derek dragged Stiles by the waist towards his bed, kicking off his shoes as he went. Pulling back he looked Stiles dead in the eye before throwing him backwards on the mattress. He arched back to take of his shirt, every muscle of his torso flexing. As he undid his belt he locked eyes with Stiles and never looked away. Stiles was not so disciplined. He couldn't help but look southward as Derek removed his pants in one movement, revelling in the full glory that was Derek Hale's body.

Unbidden, a noise he'd never made before trembled out his his throat and he could feel himself give a lop sided grin. Derek leapt forward onto Stiles, covering him. Every inch of Stiles rose up into Derek's flesh, the feel of his coarse chest hair against Stiles smooth torso.

“I want you,” Derek growled into his ear.

“I was beginning to wonder,” Stiles said. His words are disjointed by the fact that Derek was slowly grinding his hips, rubbing their cocks together slowly. Stiles just wanted to buck and thrust, fast and furious, but he knew that Derek would get mad at him for it. And by god, if that doesn't make him even hornier.

Derek's tongue snaked around the rim of his ear, ending on the lobe as he sucked it into his mouth and bit down. He kept it in his teeth as he spoke.

“It took everything I had to not throw you on the floor and fuck you where everyone could see.”

So that was why Derek stayed away, Stiles thought in the part of his brain that was still getting some blood. He was trying just as hard to control himself as Stiles was.

Derek slowly dragged his teeth off of Stiles' ear, trailing his biting kisses down the tendons of Stiles' neck before returning to his assault of Stiles' mouth. Their tongues wrapped around each other. Derek tasted good. He tasted human.

But it wasn't enough. Stiles needed more. He wanted to taste all of Derek. Pulling back from their kiss, he flipped the two of them over, straddling Derek. He shifted, feeling Derek's dick against his own. It was Stiles turn to trail his tongue down tendon and muscle while Derek lay there, chest stretching from heavy breaths. Stiles felt a hand against the back of his head, moving slowly back and forth over his buzz cut.

Though he couldn't match Derek's animal hunger, Stiles took his time covering every part of Derek. Stiles' tongue darted over his nipples, making Derek arch. A longer time on the abs, kissing each curve and dent until he couldn't help but run his tongue down the gully in the middle, swirling at the navel. That sent a shiver down Derek's spine, making his whole body tense.

Stiles moved across then, to the hip, kissing down to Derek's groin. The werewolf hissed in desperation but he'd made Stiles wait a week before appearing at his window. He could wait a few more minutes. 

As difficult as it was for him to ignore the cock that was lying along Derek's perfect abdomen, Stiles leant back, running his hands up and down Derek's inner thighs. He could see everything. The way that the hair on Derek's legs lay smooth and flat, worn thin on his thighs, how it darkened the deep crack of his ass that lay pressed into his mattress. It was finally happening. Derek Hale was on his bed, hands tearing at his covers in frustration as moans of need emanated from deep in his chest. 

Stiles couldn't stand it any more. He knelt down on the floor and ran his tongue up the underside of Derek's cock. Despite countless hours of fantasy he'd never tasted another man before. A hand ran over his head, fingers clutching for hair that wasn't there. Instead they encouraged him on as he swirled his tongue around the head of Derek's dick before taking it into his mouth. He'd always wondered what this moment would be like. 

At first his teeth caught against the soft skin and Derek hissed. Looking up through his eyelashes, Stiles could see a toothy smile on Derek's face.

Stiles went carefully, inch by inch. As much as Derek seemed to like it when he got a graze of teeth, Stiles' doesn't want to risk damaging anything this early in their fun. He didn't want to rush, no matter how much the man he now holds between his lips might want him to. Being the boy he was Stiles had done extensive research on the subject. He tried to keep the right amount of pressure, keep the rhythm of his hand on Derek's shaft just right, not take in too much at once and risk ruining it by gagging at the wrong time. 

But he had to cock of an Adonis in his mouth and all he could think was how much he wanted to break loose and go for it. Above him he could tell Derek was holding back. The werewolf obviously wanted to assault his throat, ramming himself in until he was fully engulfed in Stiles', but he held back. Part of Stiles was glad. The other part of Stiles was begging Derek to loose control.

Stiles knees were hurting from kneeling but every twinge from Derek only spurred him on. His mind was too clouded by lust. Any attempt at trying to keep a steady beat was gone as Stiles jacked Derek off while simultaneously testing how much he could take in down his throat. He wanted it all, every last inch. He wanted Derek to come in his mouth and to feel it run down his throat. Hips bucked up, up forcing Derek deeper, deeper into Stiles' mouth. 

He could feel the response of Derek against his lips, felt him sliding out and away.

“You're a little too good at that,” Derek said.

Stiles, still kneeling on the floor looked up at Derek, holding his stare. He wiped the drool that had leaked from his mouth off his jaw with the back of his hand, trailing his fingers over his lips in a way he hoped looked sexy and not just ridiculous.

“Well that was an interesting experiment. Why did you stop me? I was just getting started.”

He went to stand back up but Derek stood too quickly for him, one hand firmly on Stiles' shoulder. His other hand held Stiles by the chin, tilting up his head to give Derek a better view as Stiles eyes wandered all over his body.

Derek scooped up Stiles and in one sweep threw him back onto the bed before throwing himself over the younger man. Forcing and rubbing themselves together, each grinding into each other with equal fever. They were both so hard. Stiles was glad of his teenager libido. He could go at this all night if he needed and good GOD did he need it. He wondered if werewolves had a sex drive to match their raw animal nature. All the signs were pointing to a big fat yes.

A hand scraped itself along Stiles' spine, fingernails grating at his skin. That would leave a mark, Stiles thought with a smile. 

“Leave your scratching post at home, Hale? Well you just go on and mark away.”

Derek shifted, rolling Stiles so he was lying on top of him, wrapped together. The breath shot out of Stiles as he felt Derek's fingers shove up inside of his ass with no warning. Despite all his fumblings in the shower it still sent shocks of pain through him. 

“Anyone would think your tight little butt wouldn't want me in here.”

Stiles rolled away and grabbed the lubricant from the drawer. Derek eyed the huge tube with amusement but didn't comment on it, instead dolling himself out a sizeable dollop. This time when Derek started to work his ass it felt so wonderfully uncomfortable it froze him. He was sure even his heart had stopped beating.

Derek grumbled in pleasure. He slid his fingers out slowly then back in fast. Each time he shoved Stiles felt his muscles convulse against him. No matter what he told his body, it was determined to keep Derek out, but this only made him more determined.

Stiles couldn't speak right then. He was trying with all his might to meet Derek's thrusts rather than wriggling away, but he just couldn't manage it. Changing the angle of his hips didn't help as each new assault only made him tense up again.

“A little... a little bit over there...” he said through clenched teeth.

“Been practising have you? Couldn't wait for me to get in here. Did you touch yourself down here, imagining me?”

_Yes_ , he wanted to shout. _You're all I think about. In the shower. In this bed. Once in the school bathroom._

“Don't flatter yourself,” he said. “I'd been doing this for years before I met you.”

This was technically true. Despite the fact that his want is obvious to the world, Stiles doesn't want Derek to know just how obsessed he's become, ridiculous as that is. The man has half of his hand inside Stiles' ass. 

“Heh,” Derek said. His breath travelled right down Stiles ear, making the flesh on his back prickle with goosebumps. “I should have guessed normal masturbation wouldn't be enough for you.”

Stiles had never pegged Derek for a dirty talker. Before they'd just jumped on each other and rutted. No words, no explanation, no justification. Just sex. Stiles liked it though. He liked all of this, but he wanted more. He wanted Derek, all of Derek.

Attempting to keep Derek's fingers clenched inside him, Stiles reached over and fumbled at his bedside drawer. Derek got the message and pulled out on of his many, many condoms. Stiles always bought things in bulk.

“Confident, weren't we?”

As much as he'd been worried about Derek changing his mind there had been a point where the idea of Derek not screwing him in every position imaginable had never entered his mind. He wanted to be ready should the opportunity arise again.

“Oh like you weren't going to come screw me sooner or later.”

Derek withdrew his fingers so fast it left Stiles feeling strangely vacant, but he slung his arm around Stiles waist and pulled the two of them up. His eyes were heavy with desire.

“Say that again.”

“Say what again?”

“Tell me, what you knew I was going to do.”

“What? Screw me? This is where you're going, ri...”

Derek's tongue was in his mouth. Could Derek taste himself on Stiles' lips? The idea made his blood raise again. He didn't think he could be more aroused than he was at that moment, but he was soon to be proven wrong.

Derek dropped him onto the bed again. Stiles watched Derek's sharp teeth bite into the edge of the condom wrapper and rip open the foil.

“The guys at school always said the whole condom thing ruins the mood but that is damn near the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my life.”

He couldn't see what Derek was doing between his legs. Whatever it was he was doing it fast. Coldness for a moment, as Derek's hands slid into him again, this time much more readily.

“Oh my god. This is happening isn't it? I'm about to sex with a werewolf? Oh my god.”

“Stop talking.”

Derek didn't give him a warning. One moment his legs were being pulled apart; one around Derek's waist, the other over his shoulder. The next moment he felt Derek sliding into him. He twisted his face into the pillows, trying with all his will to keep his sphincter from forcing Derek out.

“Sweet mother of GOD! Come on ass, play nice for the big wolf. The really, freaking huge wolf.”

Derek's hand forced his shoulder back down flat onto the mattress. He didn't say anything, but Derek wanted Stiles to look at him, watch as he fucked him. He allowed Stiles two or three slow strokes to get used to him before grabbing onto Stiles' legs and fucking like they were both about to die. Stiles thought he might.

Stiles couldn't stop himself talking. From his mouth came an unending stream of filth. He let Derek know exactly what he wanted, where he wanted it and precisely how fast, hard and sweaty he wanted it. Through every _oh god, right there_ and _faster, deeper, I need you inside me_ the only sound Derek made was growling grunts and groans of exertion. Instead he let his body respond. When Stiles begged him to go deeper, Derek flipped him over, pulled his legs further apart and ground his hips until Stiles could feel every slap of Derek's balls against his ass. If Stiles cried out to go faster then Derek pounded him until the younger man had to beg him to stop again. When Stiles was too exhausted to speak any more, Derek kept on going, reading the signs of his body.

At some point Stiles came. Then he came again. After that he couldn't remember his own name let alone been able to recall what has going on between his legs beyond the fact that it was freaking awesome.

Werewolf stamina was a wonderful, wonderful thing but he was pretty sure it was about to kill him.

Stiles was on all fours, Derek kneeling on the bed behind him in what would from now on be forever cemented in his mind as 'wolfy style'. Sweat was stinging his eyes. His arms kept collapsing beneath him, unable to keep his own weight up any more. His face ploughed into the covers as Derek carried on rutting into him, forcing his head up into the wall. 

“Please... please... I can't... I can't...”

He needed it to stop but he wanted to go on forever. He never wanted to be without the sensation of Derek inside him. His entire body felt raw.

Derek pulled out of him, leaving a mix of relief and absence in Stiles back side. It wasn't for long as Derek flipped Stiles onto his back, kissed him hard before his cock took up its place once more.

“I'm going to fuck you now.” Derek's breath made the muscles of Stiles' neck quiver in anticipation.

“What do you think we've been doing all night?”

Derek let out a single chuckle and leaned back, showing his entire chiselled body. Skin gleamed with sweat, like an oiled god. If Stiles had been capable of it he would have been hard in an instant.

“That was just foreplay.”

Derek pulled Stiles closer onto him, and grabbed both of Stiles legs. Closing his eyes, he rolled his head and began to screw.

There was no warm up. No slow increase of speed. Just zero to jackhammer in an instant. It was a miracle the neighbours hadn't called the cops on them already, Stiles was being so loud. If they didn't now he wondered if they must be deaf.

“Stop. Don't stop. I can't... I want it... oh my god...”

Stiles' begging changed with every stroke. He thought he was being obliterated. He'd never be able to walk again. He was ruined. Derek was right. Everything up until now had been foreplay. This. This was sex.

Relievedly too soon, Derek began to thrust with an uneven measure. Each slap forward seemed to outweigh the back stroke. Stiles was beyond being able to feel the build up, but he could tell it was flowing through Derek's whole body.

When it finally came Derek threw back his head and howled. He thrashed about in the after throws for a good minute. Finally, exhaustion caught up with Derek and he flopped forward onto Stiles, still caught up inside, his face buried in the pillow over Stiles shoulder.

They lay like that for some minutes. Derek was heavy but Stiles didn't mind, he could just about breath. Their hearts hammered against each other, warring through their chests. Slowly they returned to normal. After a while Derek forced himself up and stood, his now limp cock sliding out of the man beneath him. Stiles watched as Derek quickly rolled off the condom and dropped it into his waste paper basket. If seemed such a weird action, despite the debauchery of the last... how long had it been? Nearly two hours. _Two hours!_ No wonder Stiles felt like he'd spent all night running through the woods after faeries and unicorns and whatever else was bound to show up in his life from now on.

Derek grabbed the towel Stiles had used earlier and his jeans from off the floor.

“Bathroom?”

Stiles could only point, trying to indicate second door on the left when his voice had completely abandoned him. He watched the door close after Derek.

The aftermath was, well, pretty much what he'd been expecting if he was honest. Derek giving him the ridding of his life and then returning to a dour sourwolf, stalking off to wash the stink of Stiles off of himself, leaving the boy in question alone in a room that wreaked of sex. Oh god. He'd have to spray enough air freshener in here to choke a horse. Hopefully his Dad would think he had started smoking pot.

Getting up from the bed took several attempts. Even without the pounding he'd received that many orgasms in that short a time would make any man's legs turn to rubber. Eventually he managed to stand on his own again. 

He was annoyed at Derek for taking the towel. Anything he put on now would just end up smelling like him. He was used to the smell of semen, what teenage boy wasn't, but this was different. He might not be a werewolf, but he could smell the extra musk that Derek's over abundance of testosterone brought on. God, how he wished he could bottle that scent and bring it out on the nights when he had nothing better to do than jerk himself into oblivion.

As he moved he could feel the slip of his cheeks. His legs felt sticky and he dared not look down too hard as what was covering them. The skin on his chest was tight with his own come. From the laundry basked he put on a pair of relatively clean boxers and the red hoodie his aunt ridiculed him for. They needed washing anyway. Stripping the sheets off the bed, Stiles couldn't help but throw one pillow to the side. Even in his own head he pretended it was an oversight but he knew it was for when he felt the courage to touch himself again. He'd bury his face in that pillow and breath in Derek Hale and the last two hours.

He collapsed back down on to the bare bed again.

What the hell was he doing? Now that his blood had redistributed itself in a more productive manner he thought on what the this all meant. He was a kid. He was sixteen. Was this even legal in California? He'd just lost his virginity. One of his virginities. He'd always thought this would be the second one to go, but it still counted. Would this happen again? Would Derek start treating him differently? Now that he'd got what he wanted, would Derek just steer clear of Stiles and never talk to him unless he had to? Did Stiles care if he did?

Stiles could feel the flicker of the future on the edge of his perception. He was getting used to the feeling. While he couldn't call it at will all the time, his power of premonition was making itself better known. It toyed with him now. He could look, just a little glimpse. A few morsels to tide him over. But what if he didn't like what he saw? What if it was nothing to do with Derek at all? How long should he keep reaching, trying to use his new found power for pure selfishness.

When Derek came back in, damp hair hanging lank, Stiles had reached his decision. Derek was trapped in the past, and Stiles was at risk from being lost in the future. This, whatever this was, was about now. 

Derek didn't avoid his eyes this time as he collected up his clothes and got dressed. There was still as much tension between them as always, but the electric crackle had gone out of it. 

“So,” said Stiles, his voice hoarse from all his moaning. “We should... that is if you want to because, I don't know about you but I certainly thought that was great. Like super, amazing, freaking AWESOME great. So if, you know, you ever felt like doing it again I wouldn't exactly be opposed to that.”

Derek paused in putting on his shirt and looked at Stiles like the idiot he was.

“Stiles.”

“Yahuh?”

“We're doing this again.”

Stiles felt his grin broaden and his head nodded of its own accord. It wasn't a suggestion. It wasn't even a promise. It was an imperative.

“Well okay then,” Stiles said. He was trying his best to sound like the whole thing was casual and he wasn't completely flipping out in the quiet of his head. “So I guess I'll see you around.”

Derek crossed over and opened the window. He must have closed it when he came in, Stiles realised. At least the neighbours wouldn't have heard him begging Derek to make him 'squeal like a little piggy'.

“You know you can use the front door.”

Derek halted with one leg over the sill and shot him a grin back. Even in human form his canines looked threatening.

“Where would the fun in that be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here ends The Woman in White. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing. You guys have been fantastic and the response has given me a much needed boost, so thank you so much.
> 
> As many of you will have noticed there are several plot strands that have been left hanging. This was the first part in what I plan to be a three part story. The next Part will be coming at some point in Jan/Feb. Hopefully. If you'll excuse the shameless self promotion you can follow me on tumblr at http://tanwencooper.tumblr.com/ where I post updates and snippits about it's going. Thank you again for reading and any constructive critisism, good or bad, would be greatly appreciated. And now a draft of the blurb for WiB...
> 
> The Woman in Black: Stiles has been left to his own devices all summer, trying to work out his new powers all by himself. Once more his life is about to be torn apart by the return of not only his aunt, but Lydia. Scared and alone, the girl he's loved for ten years ago puts even more strain on his and Derek's already troubled relationship.


End file.
